#when doing it ‘correctly’ would not have taken that much effort

[vidavalor]

crowley could have just gotten a box at the post office for that mail?

Hi there 💕 Yes, he could have, but that wouldn't have helped him achieve his goal. I think that Crowley wanted his mail still going to the old flat as a way of helping to convince Shax that he was living in his car.

A magical being like Crowley could have easily miracled himself up a new opportunity for a flat or taken over a swanky hotel suite to use as a base of operations. The problem with doing that for Crowley was that, well... then he'd have to actually live there. Hell's spies would need to see evidence of Crowley living at the new place most nights in order to buy it and Crowley didn't really want to have to do all of that. He already had a home, if not a place he could officially declare his address.

For Crowley, getting a new flat would have meant nights away from his angel and their home in the bookshop. He already long since had a routine of spending the night with Aziraphale and slipping out just before dawn to his car a few streets over. [The Romeo & Juliet of it all...] Crowley was in the car in the early mornings hours already a lot anyway, so he had Shax meet him there a few times, making it seem like he had been there all night, when he had really only been there for a little while since after sun up.

Aziraphale didn't realize that Crowley was no longer living in Mayfair because the only time he's not consistently around Crowley is between dawn and around noon most days, when Crowley stays away from the bookshop in an effort to keep Heaven and Hell's spies from thinking that he spent the night there.

You can hear the church bells in the background of the first St. James' Park scene in 1.01 signaling noon. Even after Armageddon starting, they waited until nearly noon the next day to meet, to avoid being seen together in the mornings. The car is parked on a side street a short drive away after business hours so no one knows he is there at night. That's how he was a few streets over from the bookshop in 2.01 and where the car was in 1.01 after The Ritz, when they were planning for Crowley to stay into the night.

This is also how Mrs. Sandwich knew Crowley in S2, but Nina didn't. Mrs. Sandwich works at night diagonally across from the side door to the bookshop, but Nina works across the street, beginning just after daylight. She only met Crowley in 2.01 for the first time, whereas Crowley and Mrs. Sandwich are friends.

Crowley didn't tell Aziraphale that Shax had taken over his job or flat because he didn't want to pressure him into formalizing the fact that they were basically living together-- especially when Aziraphale was struggling to deal with the chickens of Heaven's abuse of him coming home to roost.

Aziraphale didn't just initially figure it out, though, because, aside from Crowley's curious new habit of driving around with baby plants in his backseat lol, nothing much had actually changed. He assumed that Crowley was going to his flat sometimes in the mornings the way that Crowley had been doing for decades. Crowley didn't even really have to move anything into the bookshop in order to more effectively be living there. As we saw in S2, he had clothes and books there already.

Aziraphale learned that Crowley didn't have the flat anymore when Shax got into The Bentley. He presumably put it together with the plants living in the car and assumed correctly that Crowley had told the Satan-aligned Shax that he was living in his car to keep her from figuring out that he was living in the bookshop. Aziraphale then immediately insisted that Crowley didn't have Gabriel because "where would he put him?"-- backing up Crowley's lie that he was living in his car to deflect from the truth of them living together.

Later, Crowley asking Shax for his flat back is laughable because there is no way on Earth that Crowley would ever willingly live in that prison cell again. The place that isn't actually his but owned by Hell? The one where he was very much unsafe and had been canonically attacked in before? Yeah, Crowley loathed that place. This was all show:

He didn't show so to Shax when she showed up to take it, but he was so happy to be free of it. Still, Crowley didn't want Hell to know that, though. He saw the top demons left about to go back to Hell and report to Satan on what just went down in the bookshop so he quickly jumped in to ask Shax to give him his flat back, reiterating one more time the idea that he had been living in his car.

So, yes, he could have gotten a P.O. Box and/or a new flat, but that would have meant he had to spend time away from Aziraphale convincing Hell that he had a different residence. It was more effective to just let what of his mail he ever had delivered to the Mayfair flat to keep going to Shax as proof that he didn't have another residence. Anything to keep her and Satan from having proof that Crowley's address is A.Z. Fell & Co., 104 Whickber Street, London.

[quillyfied]

There’s something my dad used to very exasperatedly tell us kids about the way we did our chores, how we would “spend more time and do more work to NOT do the chore or not do it correctly than it would take to just do the job right the first time.”

Something about Ed driving the crew relentlessly from raid to raid. Something about Ed steering directly into a storm. Something about Ed taking the time to chop the wheel off the ship. Something about Ed dragging and loading a cannon to point at the mast. Something about Ed putting all his energy into forcing the crew to do something about it.

Something about putting more effort into taking the long way around and what that could mean.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

do you have any tips for a character who's initially seen as a comedic relief/not taken seriously character, and then at the end, BAM they were the villain all along and were pulling the strings from the shadows? thankss

Writing Ideas: Hidden Villains

some related tropes

Examples: Comedic Relief Character Tropes

Bad Liar: Someone who is terrible at telling lies.

Beware the Silly Ones: Character who acts silly but is also quite dangerous.

Born Unlucky: Bad things happen to this character on a daily basis.

Cannot Convey Sarcasm: A character who tries and fails to be snarky.

Cannot Tell a Joke: Someone who tells really lame and unfunny jokes.

Casanova Wannabe: A would-be womanizer who thinks they're great with the ladies, but are anything but.

Lovable Coward: A cowardly character whom one still wants to root for.

The Prankster: Someone who plays practical jokes on others for their own amusement.

"Hidden Villain" Trope

A situation where a Story Arc contains a villain whose identity is not known until much later.

This could be a result of the heroes going against The Faceless, requiring only a look under the mask to understand everything.

In most cases, this is an inversion of the Hidden Agenda Villain, where we know that something bad is happening and the Driving Question is the one behind it all.

The Reveal may involve a dramatic Emerging from the Shadows.

"Hijacked by Ganon" Trope: If the Hidden Villain turns out to be a previously known antagonist.

"The Dog Was the Mastermind" Trope: If it was someone who was never suspected at all. The Hidden Villain turns out to be about the least conspicuous person possible.

"Evil All Along" Trope: A seemingly good character turns out to be evil.

"The Man in Front of the Man" Trope: If the villain was Hidden in Plain Sight.

"Laughably Evil" Trope

The villain that makes you laugh.

It might be because they’re an idiot, it might be that you empathize with them, it might be because they’re quick with a quip, or it might be simply that their actions are so unexpected.

Funny does not always equal weak.

Some villains can cause a chuckle from the audience, right before viciously thwarting the hero's best efforts.

If done correctly, the very things that make a villain qualify can make them downright disturbing once they begin crossing the Moral Event Horizon.

Villain laughing at faking someone out with a gun with a "BANG!" flag coming out? Funny. Same villain doing the exact same laugh when shooting them for real a few seconds later? Creepy.

A truly well written one can manage to pull off both at once.

Just because a character qualifies, it does not prevent them from being completely evil and there are many villains that manage to be both. In these cases, what makes them funny also makes them very unsettling because of how much fun they have committing the most horrific acts possible.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

You can use tropes as a guide to initially develop your character. For example, choose one of (or combine/modify) the above Comedic Relief Character tropes (a longer list is in the source to provide you with more ideas) to portray your villain prior to The Reveal, and slowly incorporate characteristics of the Hidden Villain and/or Laughably Evil tropes until they are revealed as the villain. You can find examples of media portrayals of these tropes for inspiration in the links. All the best with your writing!

More: On Writing Villains

Villain Archetypes ⚜ Notes: Villains ⚜ Villain Motivations

An Unforgettable Villain ⚜ Anti-Villain ⚜ Villain Monologue

Sympathetic Villain ⚜ Your Villain's Evil Plan

[not-terezi-pyrope]

AI continues to be useful, annoying everyone

Okay, look - as much as I've been fairly on the side of "this is actually a pretty incredible technology that does have lots of actual practical uses if used correctly and with knowledge of its shortfalls" throughout the ongoing "AI era", I must admit - I don't use it as a tool too much myself.

I am all too aware of how small errors can slip in here and there, even in output that seems above the level, and, perhaps more importantly, I still have a bit of that personal pride in being able to do things myself! I like the feeling that I have learned a skill, done research on how to do a thing and then deployed that knowledge to get the result I want. It's the bread and butter of working in tech, after all.

But here's the thing, once you move beyond beginner level Python courses and well-documented windows applications. There will often be times when you will want to achieve a very particular thing, which involves working with a specialist application. This will usually be an application written for domain experts of this specialization, and so it will not be user-friendly, and it will certainly not be "outsider-friendly".

So you will download the application. Maybe it's on the command line, has some light scripting involved in a language you've never used, or just has a byzantine shorthand command structure. There is a reference document - thankfully the authors are not that insane - but there are very few examples, and none doing exactly what you want. In order to do the useful thing you want to do, they expect you to understand how the application/platform/scripting language works, to the extent that you can apply it in a novel context.

Which is all fine and well, and normally I would not recommend anybody use a tool at length unless they have taken the time to understand it to the degree at which they know what they are doing. Except I do not wish to use the tool at length, I wish to do one, singular operation, as part of a larger project, and then never touch it again. It is unfortunately not worth my time for me to sink a few hours into learning a technology that you will use once for twenty seconds and then never again.

So you spend time scouring the specialist forums, pulling up a few syntax examples you find randomly of their code and trying to string together the example commands in the docs. If you're lucky, and the syntax has enough in common with something you're familiar with, you should be able to bodge together something that works in 15-20 minutes.

But if you're not lucky, the next step would have been signing up to that forum, or making a post on that subreddit, creating a thread called "Hey, newbie here, needing help with..." and then waiting 24-48 hours to hear back from somebody probably some years-deep veteran looking down on you with scorn for not having put in the effort to learn their Thing, setting aside the fact that you have no reason to normally. It's annoying, disruptive, and takes time.

Now I can ask ChatGPT, and it will have ingested all those docs, all those forums, and it will give you a correct answer in 20 seconds about what you were doing wrong. Because friends, this is where a powerful attention model excels, because you are not asking it to manage a complex system, but to collate complex sources into a simple synthesis. The LLM has already trained in this inference, and it can reproduce it in the blink of an eye, and then deliver information about this inference in the form of a user dialog.

When people say that AI is the future of tutoring, this is what it means. Instead of waiting days to get a reply from a bored human expert, the machine knowledge blender has already got it ready to retrieve via a natural language query, with all the followup Q&A to expand your own knowledge you could desire. And the great thing about applying this to code or scripting syntax is that you can immediately verify whether the output is correct but running it and seeing if it performs as expected, so a lot of the danger is reduced (not that any modern mainstream attention model is likely to make a mistake on something as simple a single line command unless it's something barely documented online, that is).

It's incredibly useful, and it outdoes the capacity of any individual human researcher, as well as the latency of existing human experts. That's something you can't argue we've ever had better before, in any context, and it's something you can actively make use of today. And I will, because it's too good not to - despite my pride.

[forestclan-clangen]

MOON 11 (Part 2)

<< FIRST | < PREVIOUS |

While out on patrol, Perchpaw was seen sharing fresh kill with a kittypet. Windfur recognized the kittypet; his father, Lucifer. When invited to the Clan, Lucifer turns them down. He had some cats to look after...and while he'd always be an ally of ForestClan, his time with it is now over.

(Windfur, medicine cat, male, 25 moons. Lonesome) (Perchpaw, apprentice, female, 6 moons. Adventurous) (Lucifer, kittypet, male, 74 moons. Confident.)

---

Windfur was really, really tired. Physically and emotionally. But, here he was. Digging for burdock root. Dragging a really disinterested apprentice to help him.

Perchpaw seemed keen to do anything but help him dig. She was half-heartedly pawing away at the snow, her blue eyes bored and annoyed.

"...Digging involves your claws." Windfur said crossly.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, it's just cold," Perchpaw grumbled.

"...It's leaf-bare. Everything will be cold."

"I know," she sighed with exasperation, putting in a bit more effort. Windfur spotted the roots finally peeking out from the wet dirt.

"There," he said, stopping her. "That's what burdock looks like. Now it needs to be extracted carefully."

Perchpaw sniffed at the roots questionably, until seemingly, something else grasped her attention. Her ears perked up and her gaze darted into the bushes near the border. Windfur scowled.

"Perchpaw."

"Wait - Mom said she really wanted a vole earlier…"

"Perchpaw, you're not on a hunting patrol - "

"I'll be super quick, I swear! Warrior's honor, Windfur, I'll help you with the burdock," Perchpaw interjected before dashing into the bushes without even looking at him.

Windfur didn't even bother to call out to her. He sighed deeply and stared up at the light gray sky above. StarClan, he knew that Perchpaw was restless, but this was too much. He didn't need an antsy apprentice right now, and Hopechase's claim that she could use a "patient paw" for an afternoon was a load of mousedung. Windfur wasn't stupid; the entire Clan could see that she wanted to spend some time with Iciclepool. Why they weren't mates yet was beyond him, but he felt like the Clan's personal scratching post for the past two moons, and he hated it.

Windfur stared at the burdock flatly, then carefully started digging around it.

Shiverpaw would've been patient and focused. But Tree was ill and she offered to stay and look after them. Windfur wasn't stupid on that front either. Shiverpaw seemed to have some sort of crush on Tree, whether she recognized it herself or not. She liked being around them. And she pointedly didn't like being around Windfur.

He felt a tinge of frustration in his heart. He thought she knew where its exact location was. The trip should've taken no more than fifteen minutes. She was attentive, good natured, and always asking questions - why wouldn't he have faith in his own apprentice to do her stars-damned job -

Windfur ripped part of the burdock.

He yowled in aggravation and raked his claws on the nearby tree, his tail lashing. He scratched at the bark for a few, long seconds before taking deep breaths. His ears folded back and he pressed his head against the bark in shame.

No…no, it wasn't her fault. Iciclepool was right. She was nine moons old. She never experienced the start of a blizzard or how much it would impact her line of sight. She wouldn't have seen the trail markers correctly.

But Chicoryglint sent him to find herbs during a very hot leaf-fall once. He figured out how to stay cool thanks to the river. He was nine moons old, then, too. Chicoryglint praised him for pushing himself to be better. Resourceful. He figured out how to help himself. He just assumed…

…What did he assume?

...Was her praise worth dehydration, at the time?

Windfur took a deep breath. Then exhaled. Thinking about Chicoryglint hurt his brain. Thinking about Shiverpaw upset him. This was not helpful. Right now, he was supposed to be helping Perchpaw -

His eyes flew open. How long has it been? Oh, foxdung -

"Perchpaw?" He called out, immediately smelling the air and chasing her scent through the bushes. Oh, StarClan, had Hopechase taught her about Nature's Mockery yet? Windfur's eyes dilated as anxiety surged through him and he whipped his gaze around to find her lilac spotted pelt. "Perchpaw!"

He continued following her trail. It was going towards the border. His pelt rose as he caught her scent - and blood. Oh no. No, no no no -

"PERCHPAW!" He shouted as he dashed through the trees and towards their border to the Twoleg Place. "Perch - "

Windfur's voice was caught in his throat as he skidded to a halt and saw Perchpaw sitting at the border with a skinny, grey tom in front of her. Both cats' eyes whipped towards Windfur's direction and stared at him with startled expressions.

Windfur was flabbergasted as he scanned the scene and processed what he was looking at. Perchpaw was pushing a dead vole towards the grey tom. Blood. It was the vole's blood.

"W-Windfur, I-I - " Perchpaw was stammering with fear in her eyes.

"...Son?" the grey tom hesitantly stepped forward, his yellow eyes filled with recognition.

"Eh, what?!" Perchpaw retorted, bewilderment smashed across her face as she glanced between the stranger and Windfur.

Windfur's pelt prickled as he realized who this was, and his voice mantled over his adrenaline. "Father." Windfur forced his fur to fall flat, then slowly approached them, his heart still racing. "Perchpaw, I shouldn't have let you go. Never do that again."

"B-But - "

"No, he's right," the older gray tom interrupted. "Never wander alone in the woods."

"Hey!" Perchpaw hissed. "Then why were you hunting near here? Actually, better question, you're related?" She gestured between him and Windfur.

"Yes. I'm Lucifer," the gray tom responded. His yellow eyes softened. "I'm Windfur's father."

Windfur cautiously glanced at Lucifer. He hadn't seen him in several moons. The last time they met was in greenleaf, where he timidly asked how the clan fared under Redstar's leadership.

He never knew how to act around his father anymore. A moon after he became the sole medicine cat, his father approached him and said that he was leaving ForestClan, and he wanted Windfur to come with him, if he wished. Windfur felt numb, back then, and shocked. Lucifer - then named Ferncreek - didn't push him to have an answer, or forced him to join. He just looked at him with love, and sorrow. Even deeper behind those yellow eyes were imprints of pains and horrors far beyond any cat should be forced to endure in their lifetime. Windfur wanted to lash out at him, but he couldn't bring himself to. After Chicoryglint vanished from his life - he was just happy that Ferncreek wasn't leaving him without answers. Windfur said that he had to fulfill Chicoryglint's promise to stay with ForestClan. Ferncreek merely nodded, and said he understood.

The day he left felt like a betrayal to ForestClan at first, until he expressed his reasons and his pains. The long goodbye ended not with anger, but with grief, and it was the only time Windfur had seen Redstar weep openly. The Clan shared tongues with their former clanmate one final time before he left, padding towards the Twoleg cabins in the distance.

The next time he saw him after that - Ferncreek had taken the name the Twolegs called him. Lucifer, he said. His name was Lucifer, and he was happy.

Which is why he didn't know what to say to him, now that he was here, and he was skinnier than a kittypet should be.

"...What brings you to the woods?" Windfur asked.

Lucifer merely blinked at him. "Hunger."

"I said you could keep the vole if you left," Perchpaw mumbled. "I mean…don't you want it?"

"I would, actually," Lucifer meowed sheepishly.

"Take it," Windfur sighed. "But what happened to the barn? I thought the Twolegs left it open during leafbare?"

"They do."

"Then…" Windfur gestured at him.

"It's…complicated," Lucifer replied reluctantly. "There's…a few more cats than normal there now. I'm trying to be kind."

"To the point of starving?"

"Come now, I'm not starving," Lucifer scoffed with a flick of his tail. "Lower amounts of prey during leafbare isn't a new occurrence."

"But you're in one of the Twoleg storages. There should be an abundance of prey there."

"Windfur," Lucifer interjected sharply. His yellow eyes brimmed with intent, and for a moment, Windfur forgot that this was a former warrior. "I appreciate your concern, and I understand how you feel. But remember, you needn't worry about me." Lucifer gently pawed the vole away from Perchpaw, and towards himself. "After all, leafbare is coming to a close. I expect the ground keepers to return full time during the next moon. I'm only housing a few wayward cats right now. From their actions, I anticipate that they are eager to leave once the weather gets warmer."

Perchpaw was listening patiently until an idea occurred to her, her expression lightening. "If they want a place to stay permanently, they could stay with ForestClan! Um…but if they're pregnant, maybe they shouldn't…but, after that, they could come," she meowed. Windfur winced at this statement and was about to chide Perchpaw for trying to make a leader's decision, but Lucifer purred sympathetically. 

"Seen the tendrils, then?"

Perchpaw froze, then stared at the ground, as though caught in a memory. She blinked, then replied quietly. "Yeah."

"Tendrils are indiscriminate. They don't solely target ForestClan." Lucifer's tail twitched. "...A Clan would provide more protection, for certain."

Windfur's ear twitched. "...Would you need that protection yourself?"

"I appreciate the offer, Windfur. But I've made my decision many moons ago. I will always be a friend to ForestClan, even if I live a different life. May StarClan forgive me." Lucifer offered a bow to Windfur. Windfur felt a tang of hurt and discomfort as he saw his father show him any sign of reverence. He wasn't…he wasn't StarClan. He was just a cat.

"...Can you promise to stay safe?" Windfur prompted.

"Always. And if you need any help - I trust you know where to find me."

Windfur nodded. Lucifer returned the gesture, then blinked slowly at Perchpaw with kindness. He grabbed the vole and walked away from the border without looking back.

Perchpaw watched the tom leave, then tilted her head. "...He seems nice."

"...Yes. He is." Windfur paused, then scowled as he looked back at Perchpaw. "Now. Let's finish uprooting the burdock. And please," he hissed with emphasis. Perchpaw's ears folded back meekly. "Please do not run off like that again. I thought," Windfur stopped, then sighed. "...I thought…you were hurt when I smelled blood."

Perchpaw's eyes widened. "...O-Oh. I'm sorry…"

"Just…please remember that it's dangerous to be in the forest alone. And Lucifer might not have been a friendly cat."

Perchpaw stared at the floor and licked her chest in embarrassment. "Okay. I'm sorry."

Windfur said nothing. Maybe there was just nothing left to say. He trusted that Perchpaw understood him. He turned around and headed back towards his herb patch, the apprentice's footsteps padding not far behind him. ---

Cottonkit and Deerkit interact with Tree after hearing that they were hurt, trying to keep their mind off of their sickness. Cloudthunder admires how kind and thoughtful her kits are. Tree also appreciates the kits' distractions.

(Tree, warrior, non-binary, 42 moons. Adventurous) (Cloudthunder, warrior, female, 44 moons. Adventurous) (Cottonkit, kitten, female, 1 moon. Fearless) (Deerkit, kitten, female, 1 moon. Noisy)

Branchpaw shows off the hunting crouch she learned to Airkit. Airkit is clumsy and falls over when trying to mimic her. He's glad that Branchpaw pretends not to notice it.

(Airkit, kitten, male, 1 moon. Polite.) (Branchpaw, apprentice, female, 6 moons. Ambitious)

Morningspot tells Shiverpaw a secret - that she met a loner at the border recently, and was hoping that she could bring a spot of marigold for them. Shiverpaw allowed it - as long as she came with her. This turned out to be Endie - who was recently injured, although she doesn't reveal from what. After being helped, she disclosed her full name, one she does not give often - Endless.

(Morningspot, warrior, female, 13 moons. Nervous) (Shiverpaw, medicine cat apprentice, female, 11 moons. Loving) (Endless, loner, female, 47 moons. Sneaky.)

---

Shiverpaw wasn't stupid. Morningspot also seemed to have come to that conclusion, upon looking into her eyes and noticing her skepticism. The warrior started grooming herself nervously under the weight of the healer's gaze.

"...Someone needs marigold?"

"Y-Yes, that's right. Marigold helps with cuts, right?"

"Which clanmate is injured?"

Morningspot looked like a dog vanished into thin air. Her mouth hung for a moment, as if she had something to say, only to close it and stammer, "M-Me. It's, um, it's me."

"Where's your injury?"

Frozen and caught again.

Shiverpaw stared at her for a long while, before the young warrior's fear seemed genuine. Shiverpaw's heart tightened, and she decided to answer softly. "Morningspot, it's okay if it's not for you. Is it a clanmate?" she stopped, then asked with a bit more hope, "Did…Riversnow change her mind about taking herbs? Maybe she's embarrassed to ask?"

"Isn't marigold bad for…" Morningspot thought out loud before her eyes widened. "Oh, wait! Yes, yes that's right, she…um…she…"

Shiverpaw winced. "Morning, come on…"

Morningspot stopped and let out an exasperated hiss. She closed her eyes and her ears flattened. "...Ohh, it's no use. I'm awful at this," she groaned. When she opened her eyes again, she stared at the floor in shame. "...I…I want to tell you, but I can't. I…I promised I wouldn't let anyone in the Clan know, but…"

Shiverpaw's ears twitched intently. She slowly started to reach for the marigold, but couldn't bring herself to grab it. Windfur would notice. He would ask. She needed an explanation. If someone in the Clan was hurt, Morningspot would've just said so. She wasn't hurt. So someone else was.

"Morningspot, I'll help you with the marigold…but I have to come with you."

Morningspot's fur bristled before Shiverpaw continued. "Please, Morningspot. I don't need their name. I understand, you're trying to keep their privacy. But if they're hurt…then I want to make sure their injury doesn't get infected."

A tense quiet fell in the medicine den between them. It was interrupted by the sounds of Cloudthunder's kits squealing as they play-fought outside the nursery. After a few moments, Morningspot's fur flattened and her tone fell with defeat.

"Okay. If it means she gets help…"

******

Shiverpaw had a bit of difficulty keeping up with Morningspot. Not that she was running or anything like that, but she was speedwalking towards their destination. Shiverpaw worried about the condition of the cat Morningspot found. Were they more injured than she let on? Shiverpaw offered a prayer to StarClan and hoped that she could help them - quickly enough before anyone noticed her or Morningspot's absence from camp.

Morningspot's amber eyes brimmed with worry as she leapt on top of a fallen tree. The path must've been traveled often, Shiverpaw noted - the log was free of snow and ice, cleared by animals that traveled over it.

"Are we getting close?" Shiverpaw asked as she followed her lead. Morningspot tasted the air, then looked around nervously.

"I saw her around here. We're getting close. Please, please don't panic, okay?" Morningspot asked.

Shiverpaw's fur bristled. "...Why would I panic?" Shiverpaw refrained herself from adding if she should be worried.

"She's - look, I…it'll look bad, but she's really resistant to help. She only agreed to herbs if I didn't tell anyone else, and…"

Oh, good. Shiverpaw sighed. It was already enough that she and Windfur couldn't convince Riversnow to take strengthening herbs for her pregnancy. She wasn't keen on facing that again, but…

She took a deep breath and steeled her resolve. This wasn't about her. Someone was scared and by Morningspot's words, it seemed they really needed help. Compassion. Someone who cared. She could do that. She could care for a cat in pain.

A few minutes passed before they found themselves close to the border, near the Twoleg Greenleaf place. Then, after a few moments, Shiverpaw smelled wet earth, blood, and cat. Her fur bristled on end. Morningspot must've picked it up too, but she had a different reaction than Shiverpaw anticipated.

"E-Endie? Are you there? I…I have the marigold," she called out hesitantly. Shiverpaw looked at her friend incredulously.

"Morning?" Shiverpaw's voice was tight.

Morningspot let out a silent hiss and brought her front paw to her mouth, indicating for the younger cat to stay quiet. Morningspot's ears twitched as she strained to hear something, then hesitantly stared at the tracks in the snow and started following them towards a nearby trench of stone and dirt. Shiverpaw cautiously followed behind the warrior, her fur still bristling.

"Endie?" she called again, looking around.

Morningspot looked at a lowered pine branch, layered in snow, and stared at it. Shiverpaw felt her paws prickling with unease. She tried to level her breathing and pick apart the smell. The scent of Woodcrawler was faint - it was like how Tree's claws smelled when Windfur was treating them, last leaf-fall. The smell of blood was dry.

Her thoughts were interrupted as a hiss came from under the lowered pine branch.

Morningspot began stammering. "Wait, Endie, please, I…I know that - "

"I said you could give me marigold if you told no one," a snarling voice retorted. Shiverpaw's eyes widened as she realized what was being shielded beneath the branches, their form dug beneath the snow and sheltering around the roots of a pine tree. She barely noticed the cat that hid below, their long, brown fur nearly blending with the bark and the dead nettles layering the floor.

Their head was shadowed by the pines. She couldn't see the cat's eyes.

"I tried, I really did, but…"

"No, you didn't. You brought someone from your wretched cult here," the cat hissed again with more vitriol.

Shiverpaw's eyes widened with surprise. Cult? She thought for a moment about Riversnow. She had made passing comments about ForestClan being "a cult", seemingly as a joke, for the first moon that she was here. She had stopped saying such things the longer she spent time speaking to them, but for a while, Shiverpaw didn't understand why she got that idea.

Morningspot's ears flattened against her head. She slowly lowered herself to the ground, and looked at the hidden cat. "Shiverpaw is my friend. She's a healer. She…she knows more herbs that can help you. No one else but her knows about you, Endie, I promise. She won't tell anyone."

"Won't tell anyone, just like you?" Endie's voice ended in a haggard laugh. "Of course. Why should I expect anything else from a Clan cat?"

Shiverpaw's heart raced. Slowly, she lowered herself to follow Morningspot's lead. Then, her eyes widened.

Oh.

The left side of Endie's face was covered in crusted, dried blood. She still couldn't see the upper half of her face - but considering the amount below, Shiverpaw was haunted by what must have happened to this poor cat.

She understood why Morningspot asked her not to panic.

"What are you looking at? Deciding if I'm a good sacrifice?" Endie hissed at Shiverpaw.

Normally, Shiverpaw would bristle and defend herself. But her heart just wasn't in it. She knew. She knew what it was like to be chased by a Woodcrawler. To…to see a horrifying monster beyond one's imagination and believe, in that moment, that the world was filled with hatred, and apathy. To believe that she was going to die.

The panic and derealization when she realized that she was alive, and would have to keep living in a world that tried to kill her.

Shiverpaw calmly took her herb pouch, and opened it. She gently began pulling out herbs, and unraveled a long weave of cobweb - strengthened with linen from boiled grasses, split until it became simple linen. Gently, she spoke.

"I'm a medicine cat apprentice. I want to heal you."

"Ha. Apprentice? Oh, good for you, the woods didn't eat you," Endie hissed. "I don't want help. Not from you, and not an untrained cat."

Shiverpaw's ear twitched. Again, she felt her heart tense to retort, then leave her body. She remembered Olive lashing out at Windfur. Grief. Pain. Endie was in pain. That's all this was. "I am trained. I have been taught how to heal wounds. I am capable of helping you."

Shiverpaw heard the cat's tail thrash on the forest floor. "I don't want your help. I wanted your marigold and for you to leave."

Morningspot rose to her feet, looking at Shiverpaw anxiously. "S-Shiverpaw, maybe…maybe we should just…"

Shiverpaw shook her head. If they left, she would likely die. She didn't want that. "I can give you the marigold. But horsetail would be better for you. I also want to apply a bandage over your injury."

"I said I don't want your help."

"Will you be able to escape the Woodcrawler again, as you currently are?" Shiverpaw's words held no bark, she was asking in earnest. If the cat could still see out of their left eye, then that would be enough. An eerie silence sounded Endie's reply.

"...I wasn't attacked by a…whatever the hell a Woodcrawler is," Endie hissed.

Shiverpaw was caught off guard by that for a moment. Based on the smell, and what Morningspot told her, she just assumed… "Then…what injured you? Was it an infected predator?"

"I'm not telling you what got me. I've been healing fine."

"But not well enough, right? It's why you agreed for Morningspot to get marigold."

Silence.

Shiverpaw continued. "I'm not asking you to trust me, or to like me. I'm asking you to be honest about your condition."

"I'm not going back to your stupid camp!" Endie bit back in anger.

Shiverpaw tilted her head. "I'm…not suggesting that? I have the medicine right here. You don't need to come back to camp with us." In truth, Shiverpaw really wished this rogue would come back to camp - she would be able to get more suitable treatment there. Especially if she wasn't attacked by a Woodcrawler like she said - but if Endie didn't want to come with them, then she would have to do the next best thing. Shiverpaw softened, and stared at the shadows beneath the pine tree. "Please. I…I don't know what you've heard about ForestClan, but it doesn't sound like it's anything good. I can't change your mind on that. But…I'm just a young cat who wants to help others."

A tense silence fell again. Endie's tail grazed the dead pine needles on the ground. Then, she said coldly, "You may be different. But your leader isn't."

Shiverpaw's pelt bristled. She felt like she was getting nowhere. "Then how about this - I treat you right now. As I said - I want to give you horsetail alongside marigold. I have it here. If you can let me treat you here and now, then we can part ways, and no one has to know we were here today."

There was a long pause. Endie had lowered herself and inched out from under the pine tree slightly. "...Why risk punishment for a stranger?" she asked. Shiverpaw noticed the genuine confusion in her voice.

"Because it's the right thing to do."

Endie scoffed, but after a few hesitant moments, she slowly crawled out from her hiding place, revealing the true extent of her injuries. Her right eye, a bright emerald sheen, was filled with skepticism.

The left side of her face had been torn. Most of her left ear was torn out, and her cheek fur was sliced off. Shiverpaw could barely tell where her injury started - she was coated in dried blood from her ear to her lower shoulder. Morningspot failed to suppress a gasp, which received a retaliatory hiss from the rogue.

Shiverpaw hadn't seen a wound this bad before. She closed her eyes as she forced herself to remember something from her early training. She remembered Windfur's teaching. You have to stay outwardly calm. Even if they're on death's door - if you're afraid, then your patient will panic.

When she opened her eyes again, she calmly approached Endie and slowly brought her nose to the side of the injury. Endie flinched, her paw raised off the ground, but she refrained.

Shiverpaw traced the line of the injury with her gaze, nervous. The shoulder seemed to have scabbed successfully - it wasn't as inflamed as she expected. But her head was the worst of it. No animal would have done this. The faint smell of rot told her all she needed to know.

The fact that this cat was alive was a miracle.

The trio sat in silence as Shiverpaw mixed a poultice of marigold and horsetail and applied it to Endie's head. The brown molly hissed at the sting, but said nothing. Shiverpaw then gently started wrapping the bandage around the worst of it.

"You should keep this on for as long as you can. If you can find more marigold, it'd be useful to reapply it every day. This is all I brought," Shiverpaw mumbled. She backed up slowly to see if her work was satisfactory, and she decided that it would do. She could feel the brown tabby getting tense the longer she worked.

Morningspot watched quietly the whole time, then softly piped up, "Is your left eye okay?"

Shiverpaw's fur turned hot. Oh, mousedung, she completely missed that Endie kept her left eye closed. She started forward to examine it, only for the rogue to raise her tail to stop her.

"It's fine," she grumbled. "I can open it just fine. Just didn't want blood getting into it."

"Can you open it for Shiverpaw? Just in case. Please," Morningspot pleaded, her voice small. "Just…to make sure."

Endie scoffed, her tail twitching. But she took no action to appease the warrior's request.

"...The blood is dried. Your wound is covered. There's no reason to keep it closed anyway, right?" Morningspot prompted again.

Endie's tail twitched. She paused, then made a tacit decision. She turned towards Shiverpaw, who returned her gaze. The brown tabby then slowly opened her left eye.

And

something was

wrong

…and

everything

was fine.

Everything was fine.

There was nothing wrong with her eyes.

"Um…S-Shiverpaw?"

Shiverpaw blinked. All of a sudden, the world recentered around her as she felt a paw on her shoulder. Her head swiveled to meet Morningspot's amber eyes, her expression concerned. Shiverpaw blinked quickly in confusion, feeling displaced.

"Y-...Yes?" she forcibly stammered.

"Is her eye okay?"

Shiverpaw looked back at the injured tabby, and…yes. Her eye was fine. She was staring at Endie, her green eyes flickering with intent. Her left eye had avoided any kind of damage from the attack. Her pupils were even.

There was nothing for her to do.

Shiverpaw swallowed, feeling like a stone had settled in her stomach. Something was wrong, but she couldn't explain it.

It didn't help that Endie was suddenly very, very calm. "It's alright. Isn't it?" she asked.

Shiverpaw couldn't explain it. Staring into her eyes felt like an impossible task. But what else could she say? She saw nothing wrong with them. "They're…they're fine," she forced out.

"Okay. That's good," Morningspot replied. She turned towards the rogue with a relieved expression. "Thank you for letting us help you, Endie."

The tabby stayed quiet for a moment. Shiverpaw glanced at her and noticed that her prior aggression had lessened. She was still wary, the tip of her tail twitching. But there was something else in her deep green eyes now. An emotion that flickered in and out of her eyes.

"...That's not my name, you know."

"It…isn't?" Shiverpaw said. The young she-cat froze as the stranger's eyes fell back on her.

"...Endie is the name I give formally. Less…explanations to provide."

Morningspot tilted her head at her, an there was a soft flame of hope that rested in her expression. "...Endie is a fine name for strangers." Morningspot blinked slowly with reassurance. "Do you…have a different name to offer to…friends?"

Shiverpaw expected the brown tabby to retort or scoff, but instead, she heard a ragged mrrow of amusement. "No, not friends. Bold of you to make that offer. You're a stranger, and it will be left as such."

Morningspot's ears folded sadly at her side, but she perked them up rather quickly. "Well…if not Endie, what would you like to be called?"

Shiverpaw found herself unable to tear away from the injured stranger's gaze. Despite everything in her paws telling her to slowly step away, she found herself frozen. For a brief moment, she felt like…like the time she saw the monster in the wall, in the bunker. Unable to leave. Unable to move.

A small smile spread across the cat's face.

"Endless." ---

<PREVIOUS | NEXT >

[lucyrose191]

Oh oh, can you write a pt2 of your kimi raikkonen fic? The date 🥰

SPOKEN ADMIRATION| K.RÄIKKÖNEN

Author’s note; not too sure how I feel about this, it’s not my best work.

Pairing; Kimi Räikkönen x Fem!Driver!Reader

Summary; Whilst the rest of the grid are out partying and celebrating Kimi and Y/N spend some time alone getting to know each other in his hotel room together

Warning; Implied age gap but not specified.

F1 Master List , Part 1

Y/N didn’t know if she understood Kimi correctly when he had invited her to his room for ‘a drink’. These days that could mean anything, if it was anyone else she’d assume they were asking her out as a sort of relaxed date to get to know each other but this was Kimi Raikkonen, possibly one of the hardest people in the world to understand.

Did he want to get to know her better?

She had never really payed much attention to men, she had most definitely been approached and asked out before but with a goal as ambitious as hers growing up she found it best to focus on racing rather than any other aspects of her life, racing was just more important to her.

She also wasn’t really a fan of how immature guys her age could be but Kimi wasn’t her age, their conversations had been pretty limited but she couldn’t deny that he was charming in his own way.

His ‘iciness’ had never deterred her in any way because she herself was like that too, in fact now that she thought about it she seemed to enjoy the press conferences much more when Kimi was there with her, their personalities, as blunt or ‘harsh’ as they could be, fit well together and she knew the journalists hated interviewing them together but Y/N found herself enjoying those interviews more than any others.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N looked at herself in the mirror, she hadn’t put much effort in her outfit, she thought if she was simply going to be spending the evening with Kimi in his room then comfort was the way to go and settled on a jogger and hoodie set, even if Kimi did want it to be a sort of date she doubted he’d have put in much effort as well.

Her hair looked great though and she had minimal makeup on and deemed it enough for the night.

Arriving at his hotel room, her nerves had skyrocketed, something she wasn’t familiar with as she was usually confident but it seemed all that confidence had left her tonight.

Not wanting to stand in the hallway of the hotel all night, she knocked on the door, it only took a few seconds for him to answer.

She was taken by surprise.

He was wearing a grey top with matching sweats but it was the glasses on his face that had caught her attention.

He looked hot.

"I didn’t know you wore glasses," she commented lightly as she walked past him into his room, taking notice of how uncannily tidy it was, she didn’t imagine him as a near freak but he surely wouldn’t have cleaned his room just because she was coming, would he?

"Just at night," he shrugged, gesturing to his bed for bed to sit whilst he walked round the other side where there was a bottle of wine and two glasses waiting.

Y/N gave him a funny look. "Since when did you drink wine? I thought you were into the hard stuff."

Kimi looked at her before looking towards the floor as though trying to hide a smile knowing she was right. "You prefer wine," he simply stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Y/N stood for a moment and stared, letting his words sink in. "I do-but, well, I thought you invited me here to try and get me drunk? I was expecting whiskey and jäger bombs."

Kimi sighed and took a seat on the edge of the bed, popping open the bottle of wine and filling the glasses half way. "I didn’t invite you here to get drunk," he muttered, turning himself around to hand over her glass before lying his body against the headboard, his own glass in hand resting against his stomach.

She took the glass and mimicked his movements, both lying next to each other as she thought about his words and what to say in return. "Why did you invite me here?" She eventually settled on asking, not really wanting to beat around the bush.

Kimi pursed his lips at her question, eyes trained on the ceiling as he tried to find the words, he couldn’t just blurt it out, that would be wrong.

Y/N turned her head and looked at him curiously, "Do you like me, like, are you attracted to me?" She asked bluntly.

She watched as a subtle pink tinge blossomed on his cheeks and tried to press down the smile that was trying to appear on her face.

"S’ppose so," he responded, his voice that usual Finnish gruff that seems to be more prominent when he tried to be nonchalant or brush a topic to the side.

"You suppose so?" Y/N asked, biting down on her bottom lip, feeling he mouth threatening to stretch wider into a smile.

She wanted to laugh when he simply shrugged in response, knowing that if this was going to go anywhere then it was up to her because getting this far was probably way out of his comfort zone and it seemed he was really trying. "Did you ask me here as a date?"

"It was just a thought- Sebastian thought it would be a good idea-"

"-This was Sebastian’s idea?" The smile fell from her face.

Kimi rubbed a palm over his face as he saw the look on her face, he raised the glass to his mouth and downed its entirety before sitting up and facing her properly.

"I wanted it, he pushed me. I’m glad he did. I hoped you’d be open to the idea but I know you aren’t interested in finding- I just thought-"

"You really aren’t good with words, are you?" Y/N smiled at him, finding his rambling quite adorable.

"You’re right though, I’m not really interested in finding someone, or well- I wasn’t but then you asked which took me by surprise and if you wanted to then I’d give it a go, us two. I’d rather keep it on the down low though, for now at least, until it’s something."

A half a smile had grown on Kimi’s face as Y/N had rambled, relief filling his chest at her words. He was honestly more than fine with keeping it quiet, whatever it was, it would be nice to figure out things without people prying and he wouldn’t want to be the cause of her receiving backlash.

He couldn’t give a shit about anything that’s said about him but Y/N has worked so hard to get to where she is and he didn’t want to affect that, besides he was planning on retiring in the next few year so after that then there’d really be no issue.

"Are you okay with that?" She asked, not knowing what his silence meant.

Kimi looked at her in the eye and nodded, revelling in the pure joy on her face.

"So, what does Kimi Räikkönen do when he’s not busy with his hobby?" Y/N tried to get to know him.

"Bwoah, I don’t know," he blew out a large puff of air as he thought before shrugging "Sleep."

Y/N rolled her eyes "Of course you do, that’s all I ever see you doing," she teased.

"I don’t want to talk about me, I want to know about you," he told her strongly which she relented to knowing that there was time for her to get to know him.

"Well, what do you want to know?"

"Everything," he immediately responded as though he didn’t even need to think about it.

Y/N looked down to hide her smile before looking back up into his eyes that were sitting intently on her, his eyes held a soft gaze that she had never seen him have before; not realising that it actually appeared quite often whenever she was around.

"Well," she began. "When I was younger, I used to be quite bothered about what the boys in karting would say about me but then my dad told me that it was stupid that I even listened when I was easily beating them on the track and would be able to beat them with my fists too if he allowed me to, ever since then I just imagined myself punching everyone whenever they said something about me, I still do it now, the amount of times I’ve imagined punching Will Buxton in the face is ridiculous." She laughed melodically causing Kimi to smirk.

"My favourite colour is light blue, it has been since I was born because my parents got told I was a boy and had gotten me a blue stuffed rabbit that I still have to this day. I’ve always wanted to drive for RedBull because Sebastian drove for the team and he was my favourite driver, I loved how ruthless he was."

Kimi was never going to tell Sebastian that because if he found out the woman Kimi liked had seen Seb as an idol then the German would never let him live it down.

"Something you might not like is that I actually hate partying and getting drunk because I got alcohol poisoning as a teenager and I love that you’re always yourself in front of the cameras and show exactly who you are and where you’re here, to race, you couldn’t care less about the fame and I admire that."

As she finished speaking she looked him in the eyes, appreciating the thoughtful look on his face and the soft curve of his lips.

They simply stared at each other for a while, shoulders touching and wine glasses long forgotten, Y/N still half filled.

It was a subconscious move in the way Kimi’s face inched closer to hers, he hadn’t even noticed but she did and mimicked him until their noses were lightly brushing against each other.

Eventually, it was Y/N that inched forward and pressed her lips against his. She had never experienced a fluttering stomach from a kiss before, right now was a first. There were butterflies flying around crazily in her abdomen and every thought had disappeared, leaving her a cloudy mind.

When they pulled apart for air, they kept their bodies close, not really wanting to lose their connection entirely, both searching the others eyes for any sign of regret but pleasantly found none.

Kimi lifted an arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, silently pulling her into his embrace.

Not much needed to be said between the two, there was now a clear unspoken agreement between the two that it was now the start of something that would potentially be great, if not the start of what could be their entire lives,

Both were looking forward to it, grateful that a simple night together could’ve made so much progress.

[kikyoupdates]

Made to Destroy ⭑˚💎⭑ 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑡

bnha x op!reader

op!reader, my hero academia x fem!reader, reverse harem, over powered reader, f!reader

You are the product of a series of twisted experiments, an anomaly that shouldn’t have ever existed in the first place. Thankfully, you are taken into the arms of a hero and given a new purpose in life. But as you soon discover, it isn’t easy to deny your true nature, especially when you were made to destroy.

previous | story masterlist | next

It’s a new day, and school is just about to be over. You’re happily sitting at your desk, playing close attention while the teacher wraps up the lesson. There’s so much for you to learn, after all. You’ll need to make a big effort to improve, and above all else, you’re determined to make Aizawa and Present Mic proud.

Speaking of Aizawa, he’s already waiting outside the classroom for you. He’s not just here to pick you up, though. No, today he’s on a very important mission.

Namely, to find out which little asshole dared to try and hurt you.

The bell rings, and soon enough, kids start running out of the classroom and into their parents’ open arms. Aizawa watches you neatly tuck your school supplies into your bag before hoisting the bag over your shoulders and saying goodbye to the boy that you’re friends with. Izuku, his name is, if Aizawa recalls correctly.

But that’s beside the point. All the while, Aizawa narrows his eyes in quiet contemplation. He’s searching the classroom for the asshole in question. Since you don’t remember his name, you gave Aizawa a physical description instead. Spiky blond hair, crimson eyes, a cocky and unpleasant look on his face...

Ah.

There he is. Sure enough, he looks like a real piece of work, based on how he confidently struts out of the classroom. A few of the kids try to talk to him, but he rolls his eyes and ignores them, which further reinforces the fact that he’s a goddamn prick.

Aizawa is a grown adult. He’s in his twenties, having already acquired several years of meaningful hero experience. He likes to think that most people would describe him as mature, or at the very least, he takes things more seriously than the average person.

Considering all of that, is a grown man such as himself really about to get worked up over a stupid little kid?

Yes. Yes, he is.

“Aizawa!” you beam, rushing over to hug him the second you spot him waiting for you. He wraps his arms around you, of course, but only briefly.

Because the blond asshole has just walked past him.

“You,” Aizawa says. He narrows his dark eyes, and Katsuki, being the little dickhead that he is, reacts by glaring up at him defiantly.

“What? You got a problem with me, old fart?��

Aizawa is momentarily stunned into silence. He’s not old. Well, sure, his lower back has been hurting more and more lately, and he can’t help but feel awfully lethargic (although that’s always been the case), but he is not old. Seriously.

...he’s not old, right?

“Aizawa isn’t old,” you immediately counter. “He’s strong and cool! He fights villains for a living!”

Katsuki blinks, visibly surprised. He probably wasn’t expecting him to be a hero, although even Aizawa has to admit that he doesn’t look the part at first glance.

“Is that old fart your dad?” Katsuki points, completely disregarding what you just said. “And don’t make things up. I’ve never heard of a hero like him. He’s probably some no-name loser.”

Aizawa has never cared about popularity, or public appeal. He cares about helping people, and so long as he’s able to do that, he doesn’t need his efforts to be recognized. Heroes don’t do this job for the acclaim. Or at the very least, they’re not supposed to.

But when faced with this little bastard, for the first time in his life, Aizawa briefly contemplates revealing his identity just so that he can wipe that smug look off his face.

Yeah. A grown man just considered bragging to a literal child.

Such is the effect of Katsuki’s insufferable ego.

Aizawa scowls. “You really have got a mouth on you, it seems. Whatever. That’s not what’s important right now. I’m more concerned with the fact that you tried to hit [Name] the other day. What was that about, hm? Would you mind explaining it to me?”

Katsuki’s eyes widen, but before he can say anything, someone interrupts.

“There you are,” a youthful-looking blonde woman says. She grabs Katsuki by the hand and starts pulling him along. “Come on, Katsuki. Time to go.”

That must be his mother.

Aizawa steps in front of them before they can leave. “Excuse me,” he frowns. “You’re this boy’s mother, is that correct?”

“Hm? Ah, yes.” The woman smiles politely. “I’m Bakugou Mitsuki.”

“Aizawa Shouta.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Aizawa. Was there something you wanted to say to me?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, there is.”

Katsuki grits his teeth, and he starts trying to pull his mother along, clearly anticipating the shitstorm that’s headed his way.

Too bad. He needs to face the consequences of his actions, whether he likes it or not.

“Your son tried to punch [Name] yesterday,” Aizawa glares. “The teacher must have wanted to give him a second chance, but I’m afraid I’m not willing to sweep this issue under the rug. And as far as I know, he hasn’t even apologized for what he did.”

“You’re such a loser!” Katsuki immediately cries out, jabbing his finger at you. “Did you seriously tell on me, like the big baby that you are? God!”

You tilt your head. “I was just being honest. You tried to punch me, but I wasn’t really upset, because I dodged it and then the teacher yelled at you. I wasn’t even planning on telling, but it must have slipped out.”

“You still told on me! Which makes you a loser! And a baby!”

Aizawa feels like he’s on the verge of exploding. It’s painfully obvious that the kid feels zero remorse for what he’s done, and if he keeps up with these antics, Aizawa might actually blow his lid.

But fortunately, Mitsuki beats him to it.

“Katsuki!” she fumes. “You tried to start a fight with one of your classmates?!”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Katsuki counters. “She was the one who insulted me first. She acted like she didn’t remember my name and tried to embarrass me in front of everyone!”

“But it’s true. I didn’t remember your name,” you blink, completely dumbfounded. “Is everyone supposed to remember who you are or something? That seems kind of arrogant.”

“Ah, screw you!” Katsuki screams. “You’re so annoying! I hate you, I hate you, I hate—”

Mitsuki clamps her hand over his mouth, muffling all his chihuahua-like yapping. She then sighs heavily and proceeds to bow her head.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologizes. “If I’d known, I would have addressed the issue right away. Katsuki is... well, he’s a real piece of work, as you can probably tell. But that’s still no excuse. He needs to do better, and I can’t even begin to express how sorry I am that he tried to hurt your daughter.”

Aizawa stiffens up. His daughter, huh? Well, technically speaking, he is your legal guardian, and even though you’re not related by blood, he supposes he’s roughly the right age to be your father.

Still. It’s strange to hear someone use that term.

For some reason, it makes his heart squeeze.

“Come on, Katsuki.” Mitsuki pushes down on the boy’s head. “Apologize to [Name]. Apologize right now!”

Katsuki grimaces. “I don’t wanna!”

“I said apologize, you shitty little brat!”

Well, then. Aizawa can certainly tell where Katsuki gets his manners from.

Mitsuki forces Katsuki to bow his head, despite his best efforts to shake her off. “Now, say sorry,” she demands, but of course, Katsuki is still completely opposed to the idea.

“I don’t want to—”

“Say it!”

You watch, somewhat enthralled, as Katsuki balls his hands into fists. They’re trembling by his sides. His entire body is, for that matter. You can tell that the act of apologizing brings him immense shame, for reasons that you can’t comprehend.

“I’m... sorry,” he grits out, and when he finally raises his head, you can see that small tears have formed in his eyes. He’s also clenching his jaw so hard that it looks like it might snap.

The word he said was ‘sorry’, but the look he just gave you more so conveyed something along the lines of ‘I’ll never forgive you for this, you piece of shit’.

But even taking into account the obvious hostility in his tone and glare, for some reason, you still can’t find it in yourself to resent him.

In fact, you really just feel sorry for him. It’s obvious that he has some demons he’s struggling with, if the simple act of saying sorry takes that much out of him.

Mitsuki quickly strains a smile. “Sorry again for everything. I’ll be sure Katsuki doesn’t pull another stunt like this. I hope it wasn’t too scary, [Name]. Again, I’m really, really sorry.”

She’s clearly had to apologize on Katsuki’s behalf numerous times, but to some extent, the fault lies with her. A child’s behavior can often—not always, but often—come as the result of the parent’s negligence.

Aizawa supposes he should be satisfied with this much. The boy doesn’t look regretful in the slightest, but hopefully the embarrassment he’s just endured will be enough to deter him in the future.

Then again, Aizawa gets the feeling this prick is going to keep causing you problems for a long time.

But he’ll just have to cross that bridge when he gets there.

“[Name] doesn’t seem too upset, so as long as it doesn’t happen again, I don’t think we should have any problems,” Aizawa says.

Mitsuki expresses how thankful she is for his benevolence, then grabs Katsuki’s hand in hers and starts pulling him away. You can hear her chiding him the whole time they walk off, and rather than arguing any more, Katsuki chooses to stay silent.

“I feel kind of bad for him,” you can’t help but admit.

Aizawa shakes his head. “There’s no reason to. He was the one who did a bad thing. You’re a nice girl, so you feel empathy for others, but this is the result of his own actions. He tried to hurt you, so it goes without saying that he’d get in trouble. It’s never acceptable to go around hurting others.”

Right. That’s true. Dr. Garaki is the prime example of that. Although you instinctively feel that Dr. Garaki and Katsuki are nowhere near comparable. One of them is undeniably evil, whereas the other just has a bit of a rotten personality.

Dr. Garaki can’t be changed, but you feel hopeful that Katsuki can.

Although it’ll probably take a while.

“...why is that guy naked?”

You point towards a marble statue, visibly perplexed. As far as you know, people are supposed to wear clothes in public. They must have forgotten to give the statue man clothes while they were carving him. Poor thing.

Izuku’s cheeks redden. “U-Um... I’m not really sure why, but a lot of these sculptures don’t wear clothes for some reason. But since they’re not real people, I think it’s okay. P-Probably.”

You cross your arms and frown. It still seems rather strange. Not to mention that there’s something dangling from the sculpted man’s legs, and you’re not quite sure what to make of it.

“Sausage,” you say matter-of-factly, and Izuku nearly chokes on his spit.

“Oh, boy. Look, the class moron is staring at a statue’s dick. I always knew she was a freak.”

Katsuki is openly sneering at you, although you’re used to it by now. In fact, ever since he got in trouble with his mom because of you, it’s painfully obvious that his resentment has deepened tenfold. He hasn’t tried to hit you again, at least, but he throws scathing remarks your way practically every chance he gets.

“I wasn’t staring,” you deny. “I just think it’s weird that he’s naked. They should have dressed him up before putting him on display.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “God, you’re an idiot.”

Today, your class is out on a field trip at the local museum. There’s a lot to see here (not just naked statues), and even though you enjoy learning inside the classroom, this is certainly a nice change of pace.

“Bakugou, [Name], stop bickering,” the teacher chides. “And I don’t want to hear any more inappropriate commentary from either of you.”

Katsuki grins smugly, clearly pleased to have gotten you into a bit of trouble. He even mouths pervert at you, but since you’re unfamiliar with the term, you just stare at him stupidly.

Anyways, this field trip has been a lot of fun so far. You never knew a museum was filled with so many interesting things. Paintings decorate the walls, and there are countless different styles, each of them somehow managing to convey a unique story. There are sculptures too, of course, and not just naked ones. You’re in awe at the fact that everything you see here was created by someone. It’s all so beautiful; breathtaking, even. And to some extent, you’re not so different from all the pieces on display.

You, too, were created.

Although the most glaring difference is that everything here was created to evoke wonder and awe, whereas you were created to wreak havoc and inspire fear.

It’s a good thing Aizawa found you that day, otherwise there’s no telling where you might have ended up by now.

“Okay, kids.” The teacher smiles and claps her hands together. “Let’s go sit down on those benches over there and take a little break. You can eat your lunches and rest up for a while.”

Regretfully, you do not have burgers today, but the other food that Aizawa makes for you is pretty tasty too. You plop down on the bench, next to Izuku, and start by poking a straw in your juice box. Needless to say, you do it a bit too forcefully, and some of the juice sprays into your eyes.

“Ack!” you squeal. “It’s attacking me!”

Izuku lets out a few giggles, but hurries to compose himself. “A-Are you alright, [Name]? Haha. I think you poked the straw in too hard.”

“Izuku,” you whine. “Don’t laugh.”

“I... I wasn’t laughing!” he protests.

“I heard you. You totally were.”

You cross your arms and pout, making a big show of acting more upset than you actually are. Izuku stammers out the beginnings of an apology, and you’re just about to reassure him that you were only teasing, when suddenly, he stops.

There’s a gun pressing into the back of your head.

“Don’t move,” the man who just walked up to you demands. All of the kids, Izuku included, are too terrified to breathe a word. Even the teacher is frozen on the spot, eyes widened in horror.

It all happens so fast. You’re not sure where the man even came from, but in the blink of an eye, he’s managed to put your entire class—as well as the teacher—at gunpoint. You realize quickly enough that the gun isn’t an actual weapon, but rather, fused to his hand, and you have no doubt that it must be his Quirk.

“Listen up,” the man, or rather, villain bellows, speaking loudly enough so that the other people in the hall can hear. “If you don’t want these kids to die, then someone who works here had better hurry up and get me some expensive art pieces to sell. And do it quickly. The longer it takes to meet my demands, the more of these kids I’ll kill.”

You blink rigidly. He’s trying to rob the place? Which means you’re a hostage. You’ve heard of hostage situations from Aizawa before, and he told you that criminals use hostages to get what they want. Normally, if there’s only one hostage, it’s highly likely that they’ll be kept alive. But given how many kids there are... if the man really wanted to, he could kill a few of them, just to prove that he’s serious.

Most of your classmates are outright sobbing now, and the teacher is doing her very best to help them stay calm, but even she can’t seem to stop herself from shaking. The museum staff is scrambling to try and meet the villain’s demands, but with every passing second, his finger squeezes down on the trigger a bit more.

“Hurry up,” he grimaces. “And I'd better not see any funny business, like people trying to contact the police. What, do you not think I’ll shoot the kids? I’ll do it, goddammit. I’ll really do it. Watch me.”

His index finger finally presses down on the trigger all the way, and unfortunately, you have the misfortune of being closest to him.

The bullet rips through your leg, and you unleash a ghoulish scream. It hurts. The pain is unbearable. It’s worse than when you broke your arm, and nearly just as bad as when Dr. Garaki kept slicing your skin open. The blood pools around you onto the ground, and your classmates start hyperventilating, terrified out of their minds.

“Nobody fucking move!” the man yells. “I’ll shoot whoever tries to leave this damn room! I said I wasn’t playing around, so now do you get how serious I am? Hurry up and bring me a bag filled with expensive shit to sell, or I’m gonna gun these kids down, one by one!”

All of the bystanders drop to the ground, too frightened to move a muscle. They raise their hands, so that the villain can see they aren’t using their phones to call the police. The only person left standing is one of the museum staff, and he starts frantically grabbing at various displays and trying to remove them from the walls.

You groan weakly. Izuku is wailing alongside all the other kids, and even Katsuki, who normally acts like he’s not scared of anything, is trembling uncontrollably, with tears in his eyes.

The pain and blood loss makes your vision blur. The villain is still waving his gun around and holding everyone hostage. You wonder if he’ll escape before the police get here. You wonder if someone else managed to sneak an emergency call while he wasn’t paying attention. But even if that’s the case, how long will it be until the police or heroes arrive?

And what if he shoots another one of the kids next?

Being in pain frightens you, but it truly was a stroke of luck that you were the one he shot. Already, your bullet wound has nearly sealed up, and since the bleeding’s stopped, the light-headedness is slowly fading.

But it’s not just that you’ve recovered from your injury. All of a sudden, you feel it. A familiar sensation.

The same sensation you had when you escaped from Dr. Garaki.

Despite your teacher frantically whispering for you to stop, and her best attempts to reach out and pull you back, you muster up all your courage and stand up.

“Huh?”

The villain narrows his eyes. He must be wondering how you’re able to stand on two legs, and how the pain hasn’t rendered you completely motionless. He hasn’t noticed that the bullet wound already closed up, because the blood staining your skin prevents him from seeing it.

So, he’s understandably confused. And since he doesn’t know what’s going on, his immediate instinct is to point the gun at you again and shoot you a second time.

But he doesn’t get the chance.

You strike first.

Power rushes through your veins. Without even thinking it through, you swing your fist at the villain, and the force of the impact blows him backwards. The last thing you see is his eyes widening in disbelief before he crashes against one of the walls, and his head slumps, having lost consciousness.

The room goes still. The villain is out of commission. The gun he created with his Quirk comes undone, and it reverts back to a normal hand. It doesn’t look like he’s going to be waking up anytime soon. You hit him plenty hard enough.

Just like that, it’s over. You did it. You dealt with another evil person, like Dr. Garaki. The relief you feel is immeasurable, and your shoulders instinctively sag.

And just like before, the brief burst of energy you felt is gone. As a matter of fact, you’re tired. Really, really tired.

“I win,” you say weakly.

You turn around and flash Izuku a cheeky peace sign, and hardly two seconds later, you collapse.

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[imaginesmai]

His precious treasure - Eris Vanserra

First time writing for Eris! Let me know what you think

Plot: Beron manages to ask the right questions at the wrong moment, making Eris suspicious of your safety. His hidden treasure in the forest, where he cannot get fast enough.

Warnings: mention of torture, death and blood.

His steps resonated through the long corridor, servants and guards bowing to his presence. They never met his eyes, not even when he was just a young prince who barely reached their waists. He used to fool himself thinking it was out of respect, out of fear. But Eris had learned that it was easier to ignore the problems of their loved court, the abuse, when they didn’t look at him.

Countless times he had walked down those corridors with blood streaming down his face, bloody nose and bruised eyes. Burned flesh and peeled skin. It used to bother him their indifference, but that day, he barely paid them any attention.

All his focus was set in leaving the palace he called home as soon as possible without looking suspicious, without letting anyone know the terror that threatened to paralyze him.

Eris could feel his eye bruising, the burn marks on his back and chest from his father later outburst. He didn’t mind the abuse, could endure it just fine. What was breaking his soul in two were the answers his father looked with that abuse, and that he had managed to hide. But Beron was asking questions he shouldn’t have been formulating.

“Tell me, my son. Why do I keep receiving notices of your disappearances? Why are my guards worried that you might be lacking in your efforts to keep this court standing?” Beron had asked before backhanding Eris in his office. “Should I be worried about your not-so-subtle trips to the forests?”

The excuse had fallen from his mouth naturally, like he had always planned. Testing the borders for possible threats, assuring the outer posts were functioning correctly, searching the ground with his hounds.

Eris had swallowed every hit and humiliation with a tight jaw, only answering when he was spoken to. He had closed you off the bond and hoped to be strong enough for you not to notice. Then, Beron’s had asked him that damned question and his resolution had cracked.

“You look distracted lately, maybe that’s why you keep forgetting to update me about your whereabouts” Beron snarled, as if the sight of the blood spilled by his hand unsettled him. Then, he locked his eyes with Eris and fire danced behind them, and he smiled. “Maybe it’s the recent lack of servants what has your mind busy. Strange and unexplained disappearances, right?”

He was sure Beron had bought his indifference, or he wouldn’t have let him go. But he still raced through the hallways, a bad feeling twisting his gut. Running would catch too much attention, yet he knew leaving after his father’s questions was an answer by itself.

Eris prayed to the Cauldron, to whoever had unanswered his prayers through his life, that he arrived to the cabin with enough time to make things right. If Beron was asking about missing servants, he could only be talking about you. The kind-hearted lesser fae who had the misfortune of being his mate.

Three years ago, Eris had almost burnt down the entire court one of his brothers got a little too handsy with you. As a servant, you were supposed to endure it and be thankful for his attention. But your heart belonged to Eris Vanserra in secret for almost a century, and you had denied his unrespectful advantages. That earned you a beating that had left you unconscious in the middle of the backyard, where Eris’ hounds had found you.

After weeks of healing in secret and convincing him not to slaughter his own court and find death at the hands of his father, only the promise of your safety had kept him still. He had taken you away to his hidden cabin, where you had been staying part of a cozy side-town, where no one recognized you.

Thoughts of the last three years flooded his mind as he jogged the last steps of the castle, quickly hoisting himself up in his horse and riding off into the forest. He pushed his mare to her limits, until the ground and the trees were nothing but blurry colors.

He wouldn’t waste time thinking why his father hadn’t acted yet, why he had been granted those few minutes to try and save you. The answer was clear when he smelt the uncharacteristic trace of blood in the quiet village.

Eris dismounted without stopping, his mare moving restlessly in the familiar cottage. His heart pushed furiously against his chest, blood rushing to his ears when he noticed the door hanging open by an unnatural angle. Male scents and horses’ prints were all over your hidden cabin.

“Y/N!” he screamed your name, not caring about anything but your safety. With everything about to change, he could throw secrecy as the last of his priorities. “My love, where are you?”

No answer came from the outskirts of the house, and Eris all but threw himself inside. The beating he had just endured almost sent him stumbling to the ground.

The insides of the cabin were a mess, just like his soul. Scattered papers and wooden furniture, broken plates, shattered windows. Fire embers started to fill the messy space as his laborious breathing turned panicked. He leaned against the wall where pictures lay now crooked, and tried to think what to do.

Where to look, who to kill, how to survive knowing his worst nightmare had come true. Eris had always feared having a mate, having someone to love and that loved him back, because he knew the world would take it away cruelly.

What he didn’t expect was the stairs creaking under your weight, and your disheveled head poking through the stairwell. Your eyes widened, at his state, his presence, or his blood. But he didn’t consider much apart from the fact that you were still breathing, somehow, and alive enough to be standing.

His body gravitated forward until you collided into his arms, the composure he had kept during the last hour crumbling like paper against water.

“Eris” you whispered against his chest and his breath hitched, your voice so concerned and soft against his worries. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“You’re alive. You’re alive” he repeated, twice, and willed himself to believe it. “I thought – the door was open, and you didn’t answer. Why didn’t you answer? I called. Didn’t you – didn’t –“

“I didn’t know if it was you. It’s been…”

You trailed off, it wasn’t necessary to acknowledge the obvious mess. Eris pressed you tighter against his chest. Just like those nights where nightmares consumed him, where his father’s reign of terror was too much, he hugged you so tight that your bones creaked under the pressure. You didn’t mind when it was the only thing holding him together.

It was silent for no longer than three seconds, the amount of time it took for the first and only tear to roll down his bruised cheek. If he let himself any more time, if he let his guard down, none of you would make it out of there alive.

Eris ignored the rough phantoms hands he could still feel on his body, the feeling of his father’s fingers tugging on his hair and crushing his throat. His touch was soft and careful as he pulled you away and inspected you with bright eyes. Only a gash on your cheek and a light limp on your left foot. Even if your dress was stained, he didn’t find any threatening injury.

He pushed the anger once more down his chest, until he turned it into resolution.

“How many?”

“Three of Beron’s personal guard. Rookie heard them before they came and I could hide” you motioned with your chin to the enormous dog that guarded the back door, on four and alert. “She took care of the first one, and the other two… it was them or me”

“You did well” Eris whispered, cupping your cheek and brushing his thumb under the bleeding wound. “Where are the bodies?”

Those deaths would haunt you for a while. His innocent, kind mate who had been the only one brave enough to risk sending him pain tonics after his father’s beatings. Who took care of his dogs when he couldn’t leave the bed, and stubbornly stayed by his side as he pushed you away.

Eris followed you silently to the first floor, to your bedroom. Where you had spent so many nights tangled together, now three bloodied bodies stood. He could identify which one had been finished by Rookie, their face unrecognizable. His father’s personal guard embroidery stood bright on their uniform, and it threatened to make him vomit.

He fished their bodies for weapons, ignoring the urge to kill them all over again slower a crueler. When he finished gathering what was worthy, he guided you out of the room, his arm around your shoulder.

“Don’t look” he advised you, pressing you tighter when your body trembled. “We’ll be okay”

You had talked about that outcome for three years, and you had spent each borrowed minute like the last one. It wouldn’t be forever, you understood, so you had crafted a plan. An emergency plan that you needed to carry out.

Eris didn’t let you take anything and you didn’t stop to grab your belongings as he lit fire to the cabin behind you. Each step you took made your knees tremble, knowing that Beron had once more managed to drown any hope in your life for your relationship.

Heat scorched both your backs as you exited the cabin, now full ablaze. Eris’ mare was dutifully waiting at the entrance, with the dozens of neighbors that were gathered in a half-circle. They all scattered when Eris walked out, and didn’t get to see how your knees finally gave out. With just one arm, he managed to keep you standing against his chest and grab the reins.

His whole body tensed under the weight of your sobs, that racked your body in sadness. Twice now, he had seen your life crumble because of him, because of who you loved and loved you back. Until Beron was dead, until his body was cold and forgotten, there wouldn’t be a place in Prythian safe from his hands.

And no matter how much it pained, only one was safe enough to last until he killed his father. Or died trying to.

“Y/N” he whispered against your sobs, against your desperation. He held you firmly as you shook your head in denial without looking up from his chest. “It’s time, my love. We don’t have much time”

Maybe his father was stupid enough to think three men were enough to kill you, but they hadn’t returned and Eris had left – and, surely, his father himself would come to end with his son’s happiness and will to live.

Shadows gathered around his feet, but he didn’t look to the owner nor acknowledge the new presences in his court, in his forest. He had long ago granted them access for that day, had supplied them information for his part of the bargain.

Rhysand and his court had kept their promise.

“I don’t want to” you cried, so hard and fearful that his resolve shook. Yet your safety, your life, had always been his one priority.

“It’s for the best. Look at me, Y/N” his voice didn’t harden, he didn’t slip into the mask he wore around them for your sake. “Y/N”

His own voice was broken too, with despair and agony. He too dreamed for a world where he could hold you freely, where he didn’t need his worst’s enemies help to keep his mate alive. But those dreams were not for people like him. Still, he held onto that thread of hope that he would make it through tonight. That, tomorrow, he would comfort you like you deserve, endure your berating about his selflessness and kiss your tears away.

When you finally looked at him, he smiled, ignoring the surprise radiating from his unusual partners. Eris waited until your sobs subsided and you calmed enough to accept the next step.

In silence, he let his eyes tell you everything he didn’t allow himself to say. How grateful he was for your soft hand when no one else dared to help you, for your patience words against his lashings when you helped him. How sorry for each and every scar you carried from his court, his brothers and father, and for not being able to give you the life you deserved.

How much he loved you, witch every fiber of his being, until he was nothing more than embers and ashes, and beyond.

Eris pressed his lips wordlessly against your forehead, his hands holding your head in place. Your own circled his scarred wrists. With the glamour off, everyone could see the scars and marks on his body. You caressed the rough skin and held him tight, until he tore apart.

“I love you. And if I die tonight, know that your love was what has kept me alive for so long” he watched your glossy eyes, your shaky lips. “I only burn for you, my little fox”

“They’re here” Azriel talked, his voice breaking your daydreaming.

A soft spark of proudness lighted in his chest when Azriel tried to gently guide you back and you brushed him off with a stern look. Your eyes, kind and loving for him, were hard and unforgiving for the spymaster. Eris knew they would treat you well, would take care of you, and was sure you would give them hell for him.

You looked at him one last time, sad resolution in your eyes, and kissed the edge of his lips before stepping away. With your torn dress and blood over you, you looked like every inch of mate he adored and cherished.

Azriel finally gripped your wrist with an annoyed frown, and shadows swarmed both your beings just as the first group of soldiers rounded the edge of the town. They wouldn’t be the problem, but the High Lord who rode behind. Eris didn’t allow any of his fears or worries show when he kept eye contact as you disappeared with Azriel.

“Come back for me” you begged him one last time, cracking once more his already broken heart. “Please, my prince. Come back”

“I love you”

He let those words be the last thing you heard from him. Eris was powerful, but his father could crush him like a leave under a boot. Maybe Rhysand would keep to his promise and keep you safe – and still loose you against his father’s armies. Eris was just happy knowing he would die knowing what being loved by you felt. How your arms felt around his shoulders, your breath against his neck.

Eris would die happy because you had chosen him when even he hadn’t chosen himself.

The sound of horses and men screaming got more intense when you disappeared, and the prince prepared himself to face one last battle. His fists lighted up with bright fire, his body vibrating with energy.

He expected a wave of angry soldiers from his right.

Not a stony-face Rhysand looking at him with a raised brow.

“You do love” he proclaimed, his voice laced with curiosity and something else. “I was tempted to believe she was just another one of your tricks. One that assured you your climb to the throne”

“I have business to attended, in case you can’t tell” Eris grumbled, letting loose the rage and anger. “So if you would be so kind, please fuck off”

The first round of autumn males broke through the left with raised swords and angry scowls. Some of them had fought by Eris’ side in the last war, some of them had been by his father’s side as he beat him.

Neither of their faces was marked in Eris’ memory, as they all vanished away to a terrible darkness that swept them off. As if they had never existed at all. The prince’s fire died down a bit as he looked at the High Lord, who had taken his hands out of his pocket and whose violet eyes were shinning dangerously.

For all explanation, Rhysand shrugged and gave away no intention of leaving with Azriel and his court.

“I made a bet on you when we made that bargain. A bet on a new high lord that would change things with me” Rhysand stared at him and Eris didn’t break eye contact, too stunned to speak. “Wasn’t certain it was the right bet, but now I am. I hope we both get to withdraw the price”

Without another word, the world was consumed in a wave of darkness, Beron’s power emerging not so far away. Eris let himself become fire in the dark, brighter than ever, and with the memory of your last smile and the possible hope of a world with you, he launched himself into battle.

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[green-eyedfirework]

Ra's al Ghul was a fool, and there was only one way Dick was surviving this.

Dick adjusted the scarf covering his face, hitched Damian higher in his grip, and pressed against the stone wall, waiting anxiously for guards to pass him on their rotation.  The one benefit of a siege was that Ra's was more concerned with stopping people from coming in than letting people leave, and the guards usually posted outside Dick's door had been reassigned.

Finding Damian had been the hard part, Dick had no idea where Ra's had taken him after ripping him from Dick's weak arms after his birth four months ago, but he'd assumed—correctly—that Ra's wouldn't want a crying infant anywhere near him, heir or not.  Luckily, Dick knew where the nursery was.  He felt slightly sorry about knocking out the maids, but not enough to avoid it.

Ra's al Ghul was going to lose, and Dick wanted to be nowhere in the crossfire.

Dick had managed to make friends in the castle despite Ra's' best efforts, and it wasn't hard to notice that they were in a siege when Dick could see the fires from the tower window.  General Wilson had clearly come a lot further a lot faster than anyone had expected.  Judging by the size of the army, the castle would fall in the fortnight.

And Dick knew his likely fate.

Slade Wilson hated Ra's al Ghul for murdering his son.  It wasn't a stretch that that hatred would extend to Dick and Damian as well.  Even if Dick could somehow persuade the man to spare his life and ransom him back to Gotham, there was no way Wilson would pass up the chance to murder Ra's' heir in front of the decrepit old alpha.

"It's okay, Dami," Dick whispered to his son's hair.  It'd been the longest that Dick had held his son since he was born.  "We'll be okay."

The guards finally passed out of sight and Dick quickly crossed the yard.  There was a secret tunnel in the stonework that led out into the woods behind the castle and Dick's primary plan was to get out and make for Gotham.

Dick wasn't stupid.  Without horses, without weapons or supplies, without a place to sleep or money to buy food, they weren't going to get very far.  Dick had once been a capable fighter, but that was before he'd been locked in a tower.  Now, with an infant in tow—even if Damian was silent, sleepily content with the rare smell of his mother—he'd be lucky to make it to the mountain passes out of the Cradle, much less all the way to the border with Gotham.

"Halt!" a voice called out in the woods and Dick froze.

The far more likely outcome was that Dick would be caught by one of the innumerable soldiers combing through the woods.  Avoiding the main camp wouldn't do much, when Wilson had an entire army at their gates.  Dick took a deep breath as the squad of soldiers neared and took up positions to surround him.

"State your name and purpose," the lead soldier demanded.

Dick swallowed.  "My—my name is Dick," he said quietly, fingers tightening on Damian.  "I'm not—I'm just trying to get to the pass."

"You're awfully close to the castle."

Dick darted a glance back at the massive walls rising in the distance.  "I'm—" Dick took a deep breath, "I'm running from the castle.  I—please.  I have a baby.  I don't—I just want to go home."

The soldier stepped closer, until the torchlight illuminated Damian's face as well.  The hard lines of his face softened as Dick tried to keep his posture as that of a scared, hunted omega.  It didn't require that much acting.

"Where's home?" the soldier asked, voice softer.

"Gotham," Dick responded.  Just enough of the truth to keep it real, not enough to rouse suspicion.

"You're a long way from home."  Do you think I haven't realized?  "Okay, Dick, we'll help you get to the mountain pass—" Dick raised his head up, hope rising—"as long as you come to our camp to tell us how you got out of the castle."

Hope flickered.

"Of course," Dick said, dread pooling in his gut.

Dick knew there was a high probability of being caught by Wilson's men.  Dick knew that there was a high probability of meeting Wilson himself.  Dick knew that a scarf and some bruises were not an adequate disguise, not when he carried Ra's al Ghul's heir in his arms.

Dick knew he needed a plan for the confrontation.

It had been the sticking point of his preparations to leave.  If he was going to be executed anyway, why put in the effort of running away?  He needed something to convince Slade Wilson not to kill him, and somehow he figured knowledge of the castle wasn't going to be enough.  And even if he could convince Wilson that Ra's al Ghul cared nothing for him and thus killing Dick was no revenge at all, he couldn't save Damian like that.

Damian was Dick's son, his precious little baby, his adorable pup that he saw once a week for a half-hour if he begged Ra's long enough, but Wilson wouldn't care.  Not after what Ra's had done to him.  He'd kill Damian in his arms so that Dick could watch his son die like Wilson had watched his own son die.  And Dick would do anything, anything to avoid that.

There was really only one solution left to him.  Bargaining was useless, Dick had no power in Nanda Parbat.  Bringing up Gotham was a coin toss, Dick was an al Ghul now, and his family had written him off for dead when he'd first went to Ra's.  The only appeal Dick could make that had a chance of succeeding was a plea for Wilson's mercy.

He'd heard that Wilson was an honorable man.  A ruthless general, yes, but fair to his own men.  There was a reason half the country had risen in support of him.  Wilson commanded loyalty in a way Ra's al Ghul did not, and the old alpha had learnt that fear was an ineffective motivator.

Dick's last, diminishing hope that Dick would just be led to a captain to explain his escape and then be on his way died an ignoble death when he was ushered into the command tent.

The murmur of conversation died out with alacrity as Dick halted in front of the entrance.  The soldier who led him there stepped forward, "Apologies, sirs, but I found an omega claiming they escaped from a secret tunnel in the castle."

The weight of gazes on him intensified.  Dick lifted his gaze just slightly, scanning past faces and halting on a silver-haired alpha with an eyepatch and an icy blue eye, powerful presence evident even in a room full of commanders.

"A secret tunnel in the castle," Slade Wilson said, tone low and neutral.  His gaze was piercing.  "What's your name, omega?  And why were you trying to leave the castle in the first place?"

Dick swallowed.  There was a prayer that he could pass unnoticed, that Wilson didn't remember his face from the wedding, that no one else would recognize him, that Dick would be long gone by the time anyone connected a lone omega with a child to Ra's al Ghul's fled mate and heir.

Unfortunately, it wasn't practical.  And for all of Dick's calculations, they always ended up here.

Dick knelt, curling a hand behind Damian's head and keeping him pressed close as he bowed his head.  "My name is Richard al Ghul, General.  And I surrender to you."

Silence.  No one was breathing.  Dick certainly wasn't, heart pounding in his ears as footsteps crunched towards him.  "Get up," Wilson demanded, voice colder and darker, and Dick struggled back up to his feet.

Wilson was right in front of him now and Dick held perfectly still as the alpha tore off his scarf, baring his face.  He couldn't hide the protective flinch when Wilson's icy gaze dropped down to Damian and thankfully it moved back up to Dick.  "You surrender," Wilson said flatly.

"Yes, alpha," Dick said, tilting his head enough to bare his neck.  His heart was beating loud enough he was sure Wilson could hear it.

Surrender was an old way for people to ask for protection from packs.  It was considered dishonorable to turn away anyone who surrendered, as they had to give up any previous pack bonds to throw themselves at another pack's mercy.  It would be the height of disrepute to kill someone who'd offered their surrender.

Judging by the scent of fury coming from Slade Wilson, Dick wasn't sure if that would stop him.

Surrender wasn't used much anymore, and Dick was the enemy.  Dick doubted anyone in the tent would stop Wilson from murdering him.  But if Wilson portrayed himself as a stable, sane alternative to the homicidal Ra's al Ghul—

"Very well," Wilson snarled in a deeply displeased tone of voice, "I accept your surrender."  He grabbed Dick's arm, and before Dick could even brace himself, there were teeth sinking into his collarbone, biting down hard and deep and vicious.

Dick yelped, and lost his balance when his knees went weak, but Wilson's grip held him up until the alpha was satisfied.  He let go almost as soon as he disengaged the bite, and Dick ended up crumpling, curling over Damian in the instinctive urge to make himself a smaller target.

The newly formed pack bond throbbed down his collarbone and Dick felt sick.  It felt like less of a violation than his previous one but it was just as one-sided.

Ra's had tortured Dick to extract his revenge for the trick that sent Dick to marry Ra's in Tim's place.  Dick had no doubt that Wilson could be just as inventive, if not more.

But Wilson couldn't kill him, the same way Ra's couldn't kill him.  Pack slaying was the gravest of sins.  Dick was safe.  More importantly, Damian was safe.  And for that, Dick would endure Wilson's rage.

"You know," the low voice hummed, a hand drifting across Dick's shoulder, "I had a lot of plans for Ra's al Ghul's pack."  Fingers skimmed across the bite and up.  "I didn't know I'd be lucky enough to have them fall into my lap." The hand squeezed at the back of his neck.

The scruffing was enough to finish the job the bite had started and Dick made a startled sound as he went fully pliant, held upright by nothing more than the hand on his neck.  Damian made a low, upset sound, likely from Dick's growing distress and the new pack bonds, and began to wail.

Dick tried to shush him but he couldn't move and his voice was barely a whisper.  Wilson didn't let go, though, and pitched his voice to the rest of the tent.  "You're all dismissed.  Review the plans and come back tomorrow with revised ideas.  And double the guards—I don't want anyone sneaking in or out of camp."

A flurry of movement erupted, but Dick couldn't see it.  He could only see Wilson, crouched in front of him, glaring.

"Leaves us some time to get acquainted, hm, Richard?" Wilson said lowly.  "So we can figure out exactly why you're here."

Dick felt his stomach twist.

"If this is Ra's al Ghul's idea of a clever plan," Wilson said softly, "I will make sure you spend every day from now until you die regretting it."

~#~

Dick was stripped of his pack as soon as he was dragged to another tent—which he was expecting—and Damian—which caused something to clench in his chest, tight with panic.  Wilson's grip didn't let him go after his pup, though, and attacking would've hurt Damian, and the silver-haired girl that neatly stole Damian from his arms vibrated with the same hum of pack he could feel so he could at least trust that she wouldn't murder him.

"So you're our new little baby," the girl cooed, holding the crying pup with ease and tapping him lightly on the nose.  "Shh, it's okay, baby, no need to cry—look!  I got your nose!"

Damian was unimpressed with the trick and only cried harder.

"Rose," Wilson said flatly, "that's Ra's al Ghul's son."

Dick tensed but Rose just shrugged, still working at distracting Damian from his tears.  "Well, he's ours now, right?"  Dick swallowed, but Wilson didn't visibly disagree.

Instead, Wilson was looking at him, ignoring the shrieking baby with the calm of years of practice.  Dick was not quite so sanguine and kept twitching in Rose's direction as he tried to keep his attention on Wilson.

"Strip," Wilson ordered finally and Dick went still.

Well.  Not like it was the first time.  Dick removed his clothes carefully and folded them to the side before straightening up, entirely naked, hands at his side.  He didn't look in Rose's direction.  Ra's liked to have other people in the room too, another way to add to Dick's punishment.  He never really got over the fact that he didn't get the Wayne omega that he wanted.

Damian's crying picked up a notch and Dick winced.  "Dad," Rose said, sounding mildly irritated, she was rocking Damian back and forth, "I think he's hungry."

Wilson blew out a sharp breath.  "Feed him," he said sharply, “and then we'll get back to our conversation."

Dick took a step toward Damian before halting, throat thick.  "I—I can't—I can't feed him."

"Excuse me?"

"He had a wet nurse," Dick admitted haltingly.  Ra's had kept Dick from Damian for the entire first month of Damian's birth, no matter how desperately Dick begged, and his milk had eventually stopped.  He'd tried to feed Damian when he next got to see him, but it was an exercise in futility.

Yet another thing Ra's had taken away from him.

Wilson's judgmental expression clearly showed what he thought of Dick's inability to feed his own pup.

"Go find Wintergreen," Wilson waved irritably at Rose.  "He'll know where to find someone."  Rose looked at Dick, looked at her father, and shrugged, walking out of the tent with Damian in her arms.

Dick felt like half his heart had yanked out of his rib cage and followed her.

He didn't notice that Wilson was right in front of him until the alpha growled, "Now, back to our discussion.  Why is Ra's al Ghul's mate wandering around the woods with his heir?"

"I was—I was trying to leave.  To get to Gotham."

"Abandoning your pack?" Wilson arched an eyebrow.

"He's not my pack," Dick said stiffly.  Wilson had started to circle him and Dick resisted the urge to cross his arms.

"Your mate.  Your kingdom.  And you expect me to believe that you came here to surrender with no ulterior motive?"

"You're winning," Dick said hollowly.

"How coldly practical of you."

"You're going to breach the castle," Dick said, looking up to meet Wilson's gaze.  "You're going to defeat Ra's.  And you would've come after Damian and me.  So yes, I surrendered to you, because it was the only way to keep my pup alive."

Wilson had finished his circle and stopped in front of Dick, staring.  "Do you know what Ra's al Ghul did to my son?" he asked finally.

Dick swallowed thickly.  "I'm sorry," he tried quietly.

"Do you know what I want to do to his son?"

Dick's breath caught in his throat.  "Please," he whispered, "please, he's just a baby, please don't—I'll do anything—please don't hurt him—"

"Anything," Wilson cut him off, eyes glittering.

Dick dropped to his knees, eyes already blurry.  "Anything," he promised.  "He's a baby, please, he didn't know, he wasn't even born then."  The first tear dripped hot and wet down his cheek.  "If you want revenge, take it out on me, but not Damian, please—"

A hand wrapped around his throat cut off his pleading.  Dick choked for a moment, before realizing that the hand wasn't actually cutting off his air and he could take shallow breaths.  The tears were falling faster and Wilson was nothing more than a blurry blob crouched in front of him.

"Take it out on you?" Wilson said quietly, voice razor sharp.  "Judging by the looks of you, I'd say Ra's al Ghul cares next to nothing for you.  What good would hurting you do?"  Terror rose in Dick's stomach, climbing up his chest, choking him as Wilson continued, "But his precious heir?  Ra's cares about him.  And I will have my revenge."

No, Dick wanted to shout, to scream, to shriek desperately as he groveled at Wilson's feet, but the alpha scruffed him again, and the sudden relaxation was too much of a shock to his over-stressed system.  The world went dizzy and grayness swirled around him, and Dick didn't even remember hitting the ground.

[jsooly]

I love the 'Taken By The Sully's' series with all my heart ❤️ I have freshly found it today, binged read it and am happily waiting for the next part patiently! 😁

Anyway, I was writing to ask some dumb (but burning questions) and I hope I articulate myself correctly 🤧

- number one being, how tall is the reader roughly? We know that she was very tall for a human kid because of her mother's exposure to pandora logically, but she is still called Tiny by the navi around her. I'm imagining somewhere around six feet, where she is tall for a human but 3 feet short of the roughly 9 feet navi. Or is she average height and simply had a massive growth spurt in the beginning of her life?

-number two, what exactly is she wearing? Is it regular military issue clothes (safari shorts, super short shorts, long sleeves, tank tops) In the last chapter we know she wears human clothes (which was kinda unexpected but I thought it was an interesting part of her character, since though the story she focuses on relinquishing her human-ness to be accepted I thought that she would wear navi clothes even if she felt uncomfortable in the beginning, if she felt like the tribe (and maybe even neytiri) would accept her more if she looked a little less human. But as stated before I like this detail because to me it still shows that implicitly that she feels that there is still a divide between her and the navi. My long winded interpretation is that she is perceived and probably perceives herself as a human demon who is definitely not attractive in navi standards (at least not at first glance) and maybe inwardly feels a little awkward participating in a cultural custom like dress where the goal is to accentuate the strength and beauty of the navi (1 she would have felt awkward looking pretty when she she strives to make she skills known or 2 since she still frequents the sky camps it probably would be weird walking around in navi clothes (more covering from human clothes would be more versatile) or 3 she simply feels like it wouldn't make her look beautiful)

I think it would be super cute if Tarsem would make the effort to tell her how all around attractive he finds her, regardless if she feels comfortable wearing the navi clothes. It's probably not something that she's not used to hearing, especially someone that she's close with (in a serious manner at least)

Any way I'm rambling because I feel like there is so much to dive into with this series❤️ keep up your amazing work! Apologies for the work avalanche!

i just want everyone to know when i get super long asks like these i get so happy and do laps around my room!! i love u guys sm!!

(long) response below:

reader's height

i keep the reader's appearance vague so everyone can picture them as they like, but yes, she is meant to be taller than an average human due to her mutations! tuk is 5'7" and spider is 6'3", so reader definitely falls within that range at least, but is probably on the taller side with the potential of being taller than spider by a bit.

reader's clothes

disclaimer: all of these references are meant for inspiration only — i don't have a clear picture of what she wears/looks like in my head to avoid putting specific looks onto the reader. she wears whatever you think she wears based on the descriptions i provide, but hopefully this helps set the vibe!!

when jake and neytiri first took her in, she was two years old (about to turn three). they did dress her in omaticaya clothing at this time. james cameron said he based the na'vi on a number of marginalized peoples, drawing inspiration from maori, african, and native american cultures. i went on a deep dive into each and found the most similarities between traditional maori and polynesian clothing. just looking at images like this this this and this you can really see the influence, especially with the loincloths and tops made with flowers, grass, and leaves. for comparison, here are some na'vi outfits from concept art, the game, and the movies: this this this and this

anyways this is all leading up to this point: when i picture baby reader, i picture her in something similar to this or this. as she grew up, it evolved to smth like this. i couldn't find many na'vi references, but here are some anyway: this and this. hopefully i'm making sense so far ... T-T

around 11 years old, she stopped wearing na'vi clothing for the reasons you describe. 1) she's deeply insecure about her body — when she puts on na'vi clothing, she feels like she's wearing a costume and that inherently makes her feel uncomfortable/awkward, like she's pretending to be one of them rather than actually belonging to the group and 2) she doesn't have the same build as the na'vi, so a lot of the clothes they make don't fit her/serve their purpose ... if that makes sense? like you mentioned that their clothes accentuate the strength and beauty of the na'vi, which she doesn't have, so in her mind she wouldn't do the clothing justice.

and when i mentioned 'sky people' clothing i didn't mean the military clothing the lab guys wear... i just meant something like this or this or this or this or this ... human fabrics & articles of clothing in a way that supports her movement through the forest. because again, she's abnormal by human standards so they don't have clothes for her — she has to kind of make her own outfits with what she has. she leans towards human materials over na'vi materials because of her insecurities and belief that she isn't supposed to be wearing those things.

and yes, tarsem will definitely make the effort to get her to wear na'vi clothing despite her protests because he doesn't see anything weird about it!

thank you sm for your rambling! i loooooved your take because it was exactly what i hoped to get across. i hope this answers your questions, and don't hesitate to send another ask in with any other questions/interpretations :D

[jadedxhearts]

𝐃𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝

Law and you have spent far too much time apart, intimately. When you think you’re going to lose your mind from desperation, he finally gives in, a certain “cure” in mind to treat you.

Originally posted in Oct 8 2023

Please note that this is an old work and isn't representative of my current writing skills! (this one might be slighter better?)

It was difficult to not notice the various things that had set off certain alarms in your mind. Not to say those alarms were concerning nor bad in nature, no.

It started during a routine check up, about two weeks ago. You were sat in a chair in the operation room aboard the Polar Tang, allowing Law to do whatever he needed to check your general health. He’d taken your temperature, other vitals, the basics. But it was when he’d began feeling around your neck, presumably for your lymph nodes, that a shudder went down your spine. 

For one short moment, his hand had wrapped around your neck as though he was possessively holding onto you, much like he did during… other times. Law had been so busy these days, constantly working hard to make sure his submarine was being run correctly and efficiently. He tended to be this way, always, but as of lately, things seemed more hectic on the ship. You really couldn’t come up with an answer why, though.

However, these long working hours for your lover meant that he generally didn’t have much time to spare. Especially not for things such as sex. Your body longed for him, your fingers proving to not be enough. You’d tried to be cool about it, using body language and longing looks to try and get your message across. But Law either seemed too tired, or downright uninterested. You could tell by his mannerisms, though, especially during the checkup, that he longed for you too.

So when his hand had just barely wrapped around your neck, leaving you gasping for air as if he’d choked you, all feelings went straight down between your legs, your heart pounding as you became too excited too quickly. But your routine checkup wasn’t over, and Law had already moved on from his ‘accident’. 

But then another thing happened not even five minutes later. His gloved hands kept grazing your body, touch lingering for much longer than it should have. Again and again, these things kept happening, turning you on even more; making you more desperate for the doctor’s touch.

You’d tried to initiate that evening, but Law was exhausted, barely making an effort to kick off his boots and change into pajama pants before he’d promptly collapsed into bed. 

And now here you were, two entire weeks later, still having gone unsatisfied. You honestly struggled, having to go about your day as normal, meanwhile your brain remained filled with images of Law doing certain things to you. His tattooed chest glistening as he hovered over you, shoving your body down into the pillows as he filled you up so deliciously, among other images of past times with him. God, you needed him so badly.

You were curled up in bed, hugging a pillow tightly as you tried to fall asleep, trying to not lose your sanity as you pushed away any lewd thoughts about Law. It was so, so difficult, though. The pillow was slipping down between your legs as you clung to it, the plushness of it brushing against where you yearned for Law most. Eventually, it was in a spot where you could rub yourself against it, if you so wished. The thought seemed so dirty, and you couldn’t help but hope Law would walk into the bedroom and catch you as you began to move your hips, biting your lip harshly as you slowly humped the pillow.

But then you were interrupted, practically throwing the pillow away from yourself as the den-den-mushi on your nightstand began to ring. Calming yourself down, you answered it with a click, only to be surprised as Law’s voice came through.

“Y/n? You awake?” He asked, voice sounding… off. You couldn’t quite figure it out, though.

“Yes,” you choked out, feeling your heart hammering in your chest as you breathed heavily. Maybe he’d hear how desperate you were and come back to bed.

“Meet me in the operation room,” he instructed, and you now noticed how seductively he spoke. It made your cunt throb, and you obliged happily, already leaping out of the bed. 

You hadn’t even responded to him. You’d honestly forgotten to through your excitement, rushing out of your bedroom to sprint over to the operation room. After all, there could only be one reason why Law was in there, demanding you to meet him there at this hour.

Opening the doors to the large room, you discovered Law leaning against the table, arms folded in front of his chest as he smirked down at you. The tall man wore his doctor's coat over a tank top and his usual jeans. The other key differences were that his hat was removed, sitting on a counter nearby where he stood. And the other two things being that he had on gloves, as well as the fact that there was a not so hidden bulging in his jeans. He looked painfully hard, even through the constricting fabric.

Hands folded in front of you, you quickly moved to stand in front of him, innocently looking up at your lover. “You wanted me, Law?” You asked, voice ever so slightly pitched up to add a sense of cuteness, with an underlying sultriness to it. 

He chuckled, using one gloved finger to tilt your chin up toward him, face inching closer to yours. “Figured you needed a ‘check up’, hm?”

“B-but, I just had one two weeks ago,” you feigned innocence, pretending to be unaware of his antics. Though it was evident that both of you knew what game was being played here.

“I think you need a different kind, though,” Law hummed, firmly kissing you for just a second, before biting down onto your lips. “I want you undressed and up on the table, understood?”

With a sweet giggle, you nodded and eagerly began stripping yourself of your clothing. Once you were down to your panties, you angled your head to face Law, licking your lips as you slowly slid the thin fabric down your legs. Though, before they could even reach under your ass, you felt his hands on you, lifting you up to sit on the operation table. And while he’d quickly gotten you up on it, Law then went at an agonizingly slow pace, carefully pulling your panties down your legs, eyes never leaving yours for a second as they slipped off your feet, now bunched up in his hands.

He didn’t say a word to you. Law simply examined your panties, more than likely noticing the wet spot in them. He smirked, looking between you and the delicate lace for a second, all before setting them down on the counter behind him. 

Then, Law returned to you, placing both hands on either side of you, leaning dangerously close to your nude body. His gray eyes looked you up and down, noticeably stopping to stare at your full breasts. Then back up to your face, where he seemingly lingered on your lips. 

“By simply observing you, I cannot say whether or not you are… sufficient.”

“Sufficient?” You raised an eyebrow, echoing Law’s words.

“In satisfaction,” he explained, before continuing on with the act. “Tell me, Y/n. Do you have any symptoms?”

You slowly nodded, bashfully looking away. “Um… yes, I have this ache. It’s soo painful, like I’m throbbing and need something.”

“Where is the ache?” Law asked, sounding as bored as ever. Perhaps he was more desperate than he’d assumed, and was growing tired of the act?

With that thought in mind, you widen your legs, revealing your wet pussy to him. Taking his right hand in yours, you bring Law’s fingers to the supposed ache, gently pushing the gloved finger tips into your folds with a whine.

“I see,” he hummed. “And I know of the treatment you need.”

“You do?” You bit your lip, deciding you were also growing far too desperate to keep up the act. You needed him. Now.

“Yeah,” he deadpanned, face moving beside yours as he whispered, “you need my fucking cock in you, that’s what.”

His hushed voice so close to your ear sent shivers down your spine. 

“Please, Law,” you whined, grabbing onto him. “Make me feel good, please doctor!”

Law reacted quickly, unbuckling his belt and undoing his jeans, swiftly pulling out his hard length. He was probably aching just as much as you were. With a low chuckle, he pulled you closer to him, using one hand to rub his cock’s tip against your wet folds, the other hand landing on the side of your face as he brought your lips together, kissing you with such desperate fever. 

“Fuck, Law, please,” you moaned, dragging out your words to show more desperation. “Please fuck me, baby.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, as he fully inserted his length in you, filling you to the brim as his pulsating cock squeezed inside of your velvety walls. 

You both moaned, the lewd noises spilling into each other’s mouths as you swallowed them up. Fuck, he felt so good in you. The stretch was delicious, you thought, as you clamped down on him. There was no way you were lasting long tonight.

Law hissed as you cunt squeezed his cock, trapping him within you. “F-fuck, Y/n,” he choked out, “quit clenching on me like that, I’m gonna cum if you keep it up.”

You whined, trying to relax the muscles within your cunt. And after another moment of sitting like that, Law finally pulled his hips backwards, quickly snapping them forward with force, ripping loud moans from your throat.

He pounded into you, creating the nastiest wet noises you’d ever heard your pussy produce, combined with the sound of his skin slapping against yours.. You were glad the operation room walls were thick, as you had a feeling all the combined sounds would wake your resting crewmates otherwise. 

Your fingernails dug into the fabric of Law’s coat, gripping him as your whole body trembled from the sensations. He held you tightly, hovering over you as you laid back on the table now, legs in the air. If somebody were to walk in, there was no doubt about what you and Law were doing. 

Before long, you were screaming his name, cunt slick with your juices as you felt the tight knot within you about to burst. You were a moaning, desperate mess, ready to succumb to everything Law was doing to you. And it seemed he wasn’t far behind, as his thrusts became sloppy and inconsistent, heavy pants falling from his open mouth.

“Law, fuck, fuck, please cum in me,” you half whined, half begged.

“Already planned on it,” he grunted, snapping his hips against yours harshly, “you need your medicine, after all, hm?”

A whimper escaped you, and you felt your body let go as you began to cum around his cock. Law urged you on, praising you for being such a good girl, saying you needed just a little bit more of his cock.

But, mid-way through his taunting, Law gasped, shoving his head down and between your breasts as his body seemingly locked up, his thrusts stopping while he was fully inside you. Cum spilled from him, filling up your spent pussy. You moaned from the sensations of the hot seed stuffing you, a hand flying to hold onto Law, gripping at his messy black hair. 

As you both calmed down, you put a gentler hold on Law’s hair, using both hands to hold his head as you played with the raven locks. He panted against you, hot breaths landing on the skin of your chest. Eventually, he pulled his upper body away, looking down at you before placing a kiss on your wet lips.

“So… am I cured, doctor?”

[faithisyours]

Just a Dream

Azriel x Fem!reader

Summary: after a long day you come home to the house of wind to find Azriel having a nightmare.

Warnings: fluff, comfort, talk of nightmares, mentions of family and friend death, not too detailed, though, not proof read

Word count: 2.1k

a/n: Hello, God? It’s me again. I’m here on both knees to offer you some bbg Azriel content. This man is tormented, just the way I like them. First Azriel fic, and first ACOTAR fic in general, so please don’t kill me if I get any of the lore wrong (I read these books a while ago and barely remember the plot😅). This came to me in a dream. I’m just kidding. I’m gonna quit my yapping and go now. Minors please go away. Enjoy :)

It had been a long day. Your mission had taken longer than you had expected. Rhys, your High Lord, had sent you to do a routine check on the southern border, but of course, since it was your turn to do this check, a fight had broken out, one that you had to break up, and smooth over, and make sure wouldn’t happen again, and file a report for. By the time you were done, it was already dark out.

You double checked you had completed everything you needed to do, as well as make sure you had filled out that report correctly. Gods forbid you forgot to fill in one pesky section. Rhys would be on your ass about it for weeks. Finally, when you had double checked everything and grown too tired to care if you had forgotten something, you winnowed back to the house of wind, your home.

It was quiet, not even the noise of the house settling could be heard. You tip-toed your way to the kitchen for a little something to eat, your long and busy day allowing no time for dinner. You made yourself a plate, stacking crackers, cheese, meats, and fruits atop one another. The house provided a glass of cold water for you, and you took it, thanking the house silently.

You made your way up to your room. You didn’t want to stay in the kitchen for fear you would make too much noise. So you padded up the steps and down the hallway, but before you could make it to your room, you heard muffled noises coming from inside the Shadowsinger’s chambers. At first you thought it was the noises of a well spent night, but as you grew closer, something you had no choice in doing since to get to your room you had to pass Azriel’s door, the muffled noises were that of distress.

“No, no please! Don’t!” you heard the Shadowsinger call out. He must be having a nightmare, you thought. You did not know what possessed you to open his door and walk right in, but you did. You saw the Illarian sprawled out on his massive bed, blankets tangled around his legs and damp from sweat. His bare chest heaved and glistened with a sheen of cold perspiration.

You put your plate of food and glass of water down on the dresser, then slowly closed the door behind you. You did not want anyone to find you in here, but you also did not want Azriel's nightmare to wake the whole house. You were all aware he had them, everyone in this house had them, and occasionally one would be bad enough to wake the whole floor. The fact that everyone had them made the embarrassment more manageable, but it was embarrassing nonetheless. And you did not want Azriel to be embarrassed.

You took a moment to consider how best to wake him. He was thrashing slightly, his movements becoming more rapid, and he was crying out louder now. You needed to pull him from this dream, and soon. You chose to call his name quietly, in hopes that would pull him out of his torment, but your efforts were futile. You decided you were going to have to touch him.

You made your way to the side of his bed and sat. You turned to face him, so that your right leg was on the bed, bent at the knee, body facing the headboard. You gently took his hand in yours, then slowly began tracing circles on the top of it. This seemed to stir him just a little, but not enough. He was still squirming, eyelids twitching, still calling out in distress.

“Please, don’t! Take me instead. I deserve…” he trailed off. You began calling his name, starting quiet but getting louder. You were sliding your free hand up and down his arm soothingly, the other held tight in Azriel’s scarred hand. But your efforts were still not working.

You shifted your body fully onto the bed now, kneeling next to him, making sure you weren’t pinning his wings. “Azriel, it’s just a dream. Wake up. You’re safe,” you cooed. With your free hand, you cupped his cheek, trying to stop his shaking. “Az, wake up! Please!” Your pleading was getting louder, and you were scared you were going to be the one to wake the whole floor. “It’s just a dream. You are safe. It’s just a dream.”

In an instant Azriel sat up and frantically grabbed onto you. He was disoriented, upset, and panicky, but your words calmed him. “Azriel, you were dreaming. You’re alright. It was just a dream,” you told him. You smoothed away the hair that was stuck to his forehead with sweat. Cupping his cheek, you forced his eyes to meet yours. You searched those hazel depths, trying to gauge his understanding of the situation. “It was just a dream, Az,” you repeated, and did not break eye contact until he nodded that he understood. When he started to calm down you removed your hand from his cheek, dropping it down to the hand clasped in your other one. “Just a dream,” he murmured, nodding slightly.

You suddenly became very aware that you were in a half-dressed Illarian male’s bed. Azriel was one of your dearest friends, but that didn’t make the situation any less awkward. It’s not like you’ve never been in his room, or seen him without a shirt, it was just never both at the same time. Trying not to dwell on it, you asked, “Do you want to talk about it,” for which he promptly shook his head. “Would you like some food?” you offered, remembering the plate of food that still sat on his dresser. He looked up at you questioningly, so you slid off the bed, walked over and grabbed the plate of food, then walked back, presenting it to him with a half-grin on your face.

“Why?” he simply asked, growing increasingly confused.

“I just got back from my mission and didn’t get the chance to eat dinner, so I was gonna take this to my room so that I wouldn't wake anyone up but I heard you, so…” you trailed off. He nodded in understanding.

“So this is your dinner?” he asked, trying not to dwell on the last part of your sentence, the fact that he was talking and you heard him. It was your turn to nod.

“Ya, but I think my eyes were bigger than my stomach. You can have some,” you reassured, grabbing a grape and popping it into your mouth. You lowered the plate onto the bed next to him, then sat. Az took a cube of cheese and a cracker, then slid them into his mouth in one fell swoop. He chewed slowly, then swallowed. He was sitting up now, his sheets still tangled in his legs, but he seemed to be calming down a great deal.

“There was a fight that broke out at the border today,” you offered, trying to distract him further from what remained of his dream. “Right when I was almost done, too! I had to stay an extra two hours to smooth everything over. Ridiculous!” you exclaimed. Az breathed out a huff of amusement, a small smile making its way onto his lips. “Oh, you think it's funny?” you teased with an incredulous tone. His smile was starting to part his lips, and you couldn’t resist yourself, you smiled back.

“Thank you,” he said, picking up a strawberry and raising it to you in thanks.

“No problem,” you replied. You were about to stand up and leave, but he stopped you with a hand over yours.

“What did… what was I saying?” he asked you shyly.

“Oh um…” you were startled by his question slightly. You didn’t want to bring up a sore subject, but he was the one asking, so you guessed it was alright. “Ya know just the usual “no, please don’t”’s and the “take me instead”’s. Very chivalrous of you, might I add.” You wanted to lighten the mood a bit, but it didn’t seem to be working. There was a line between the Shadowsinger’s eyebrows, and his eyes were downcast. “You also said you deserved to go instead, but that part was a little unclear.” You didn’t mean to pry, but you were curious. And if Azriel thought he deserved to die instead of someone else because he deserved it, well you were going to have to fix that opinion real quick.

Az simply nodded. It did not seem like he wanted to elaborate on that last part, so you offered up one of your most common nightmares in hopes it would comfort him. “I often dream about my family being killed in front of me. That I am restrained or incapacitated in some way that prevents me from helping. And I always seem to offer myself in exchange for their lives. It never works, though.” His eyes were on you now, sorrow-filled hazel that glittered in the moonlight streaming through the windows. His fingers had taken up tracing lines on the hand of yours that was clasped in his.

“That's not your fault,” he whispered. You both sat there for a long minute. “I was…” he started, but seemed to think better of it. You placed your free hand over his, encouraging him to continue. He took a deep breath. “In my dream, Cassian was in trouble. He’s my brother, my closest friend, I couldn’t just do nothing. I offered myself as an alternative. Cass is so good, so much better than me. I guess I just thought… he deserves to live,” he paused, “more than I do.” he finished, and it took everything in you not to break down right in front of him.

“Azriel,” your tone was firm. “You are good. So good. You are amazing, and so so loved. And I know it was just a dream… but our thoughts influence them, and they influence us. Please believe me when I say you do not deserve to die in the place of someone else because it would be better, or because you are not good enough. You are.” Tears were threatening to pool in your eyes. Azriel was one of your closest friends, and your life would be incomplete without him in it. You lifted your hand to caress his cheek, pouring comfort and reassurance through your touch.

He nodded. “Thank you,” he said again. “For waking me up, and for your words. And for the food,” he added after a small pause. You gave him a small smile, and he returned it. You got up to leave, wanting to take a hot bath and change, but he stopped you. “Can you…can you stay, maybe?” he asked. You grinned, how could you not? You loved his awkwardness.

“Yes. But under conditions.” He waited for you to continue. “I stink, so I’m going to take a bath. And then I’ll come back in, okay? Give me thirty minutes.” he nodded once again.

You made your way to your room, plate of food and glass of water in hand. You quickly bathed, and ate, then changed into your sleeping clothes. You weren't going to lie to yourself, either. You were glad Az asked you to stay in his room. Both of you calmed each other down in a way no one else could. This was not the first time you had slept in each other's beds, either. Your relationship was strictly platonic, but Azriel’s cuddles were unmatched, and you always seemed to sleep better in his presence, the same going for him.

Once you were done bathing and changing, you made your way back to the Shadowsinger’s room. He had changed the sheets of his bed, and was now wearing a shirt. He sat propped against his headboard reading a book. You made sure to close the door behind you, then made your way over to his bed. You pulled the blankets back and crawled in, snuggling right into the side of him. He dog-eared his page in the book (an act that almost made you get back up and leave) and set it on his night stand. He sank down into his bed and wrapped his arms around you. And there you both slept, peacefully, dreaming of absolutely nothing.

[michilinstar]

hello is it OK if you can make a fic where the reader manages to finish up nulla's house thank you!

-🌌 anon

My goodness! Hello! Hello! I'm glad that we’re doing the emoji nicknames! I'm planning on posting a list of taken emojis soon if I get enough people to join in. Anyways, I love this ask! When I wanted to first post something, I had trouble even coming up with something to write with. I'm happy to be getting asked, as it's essentially everyone pooling their brainpower together! Small announcement also, I am starting a To Be Hero X fic to all those fans out there, it's basically a Ghost! Nice x Linling may take some time, though. Grateful for this ask! It makes it easier on me since I'm not writing for multiple characters. Thank you again 🌌 Anon!

Reader fixes Nulla's Domain:

Let's be honest, you have absolutely no power to change Nulla's domain from inside the game. But what you can do is fix it from the outside of the game, you have the ability to mess around with the coding (even if Nulla ate like half of it). You took the images of Nulla's domain and started to draw and tweak out some small things. Your art style is different from the rest of the game, but I'm sure Nulla would enjoy the new look nonetheless. Meanwhile, with Nulla, he's confused about why you haven't opened the game yet, he terribly misses you, and needs to execute the next part of the plan. He was bored sitting at his dining table doing father knows what, when he blinked once and his domain started changing all around him! One by one, each room starts looking completely different from the rest of the other domains. Now he has well, color! No more painstakingly white walls and scratchy edges, everything looks much cleaner. When you were done implementing the new backgrounds for the game, you decided to open it up to test if the new images were working correctly. That's when Nulla got notified that you had opened the game and instantly rushed to go find you. “Mi amor, did you do this?” He asked you hastily. You told him that it was, in fact, you who did it, explaining that all you did was mess with the game code. You just couldn’t leave him in such a dull space for this long, so why not a change of environment? For each room, you tried to implement Nulla's favorite things, such as those yellow flowers he loves so dearly; you put them as decoration in every room. And for his signature red suit, you painted a couple of rooms red and the rest a soothing lighter color that pairs well. He was overjoyed when you thought of him enough to want to go out of your way to do this for him. He decided to explore the very same domain he had known since his creation, but everything is now entirely new to him. It reminds him of when he had first appeared in this world and similarly acted this way in the domain. Over time, he just got sick of it. No personality, it just looked like Septem's domain, which he disliked very much. Now it's full of every variety of color he can think of, perfectly mashed together into the ideal home he wished he had gotten. He's grateful for your effort and embraces “you,” which he wishes it was the actual you so he could shower you with all the love he feels for you.

Every bit of support helps me do what I love! Link in the image below!

[just-some-random-blogger]

Snow Angel

Criston's Version

I'll angel in the snow until I'm worthy but if it kills me, I tried.

Gwyane's Version ❄ Daemon's Version ❄ Aegon's Version ❄ Aemond's Version ❄ Jacaerys' Version ❄ Cregan's Version ❄ Criston's Verision

Cregan Stark x Reader | 900< | cw: fem!reader, dornish!reader, angry mob, angst, violence, death, typos, etc.

A/N: renee rapp my beloved. this was requested by an anon so anon i hope you see this and enjoy it <3

You remember distinctly how his hair bounced as he ran to your window. You remember distinctly the huffs that left his lips as he scaled up to your window. You remember distinctly the smile that blossomed on your lips as he handed you the fresh flower he picked.

Yet, it seemed nothing remained of what you remembered of him, to a point where you questioned if you remembered correctly at all.

Criston Cole strut about the Keep with his short hair and white cloak as though he was born here. There was an air of urgency about him and a sullenness to his expression. He spoke with a man, donned in similar attire as they march closer to you. You push your shoulders back and ready yourself to meet him.

You wait for him to stop, for him to see you and look as though he'd seen a ghost. He does not even look your way or notice you as he passes. You are taken aback, but brush it off; after all, you were kids when you last saw each other.

"Criston."

The man speaking to whom you called is the one that looks back. A beat later, so does he. His brows are furrowed, his jaw is clenched.

You offer him a smile, "duty becomes you... I think."

He tilts his head at your words and watches you link your fingers together. It takes him too many seconds too long to recognize you. Your smile chips by the time he says your name. He dismisses the man beside him and moves closer to you. Now that you are face to face, you find it a wonder to have recognized him at all.

How high he has soared from being some lowly boy who offered you flowers. For a moment, you swear his brown eyes soften the way it used once.

"I heard they have made you the Hand," you eye the necklace on him, "I think my father would rise from the dead if I told his grave." You chuckle softly, "though, he is more a lord of pride than anything else."

A faint line forms between his brows, "have you come to besmirch me?"

You pull your head back, "what?"

"Do you find Dorne so dull that you leave the peace there to behold the skirmish here in King's Landing?"

Your jaw slacks. You shake your head in disagreement. You reach for his cheek, "I do no such thing, sweetheart."

Criston reels then tenses at your touch. Still, you manage to place your palm upon his face. He looks as though he is fighting to keep the hardness on his face.

"I've come to see you. To wish you well."

His mask slips. You feel him slightly lean into your touch. He sighs, "it is not safe for you here. The city does not take kindly its Crown as of late. They've grown restless," he takes your hand and squeezes it, "you m-"

"Ser Criston."

The speed and harshness in which your hand is released nearly makes you lose your footing.

Criston turns around with the haste of a guilty criminal. You both turn to the red haired woman. He addresses her, "queen mother."

She approaches, hand gripping her emerald skirt. She stops a few feet before the two of you. She turns to you and you find yourself curtsying, "Queen Alicent."

She smiles politely and turns to Cole, "there is a matter I wish to discuss with you."

"I am your servant," he steps forward, bowing in regard.

"We may speak after your-"

"Our conversation is ended," Criston does not spare you a glance.

Alicent does not betray the blank expression on her face. She turns to you, eyes darting to your necklace, "you have come from Dorne, have you not?"

You nod, "indeed, your grace."

She looks back at him. Her lips twitch, "much effort has been taken by your friend-"

"She is not my friend," Criston cuts, deeply and surely. You are rendered frozen in your spot as he glances from over his shoulder, "I have instructed her to take her leave."

You feel as though the heat of your was being pulled out from your face. You lower your gaze and curtsy one last time before leaving without another word.

Criston watches as you retreat. He feels a twinge in his chest but he wills it away with a sigh. It is much harder to do so when Alicent begins to pick a fight over his unfeelingness.

You manage to retreat to your carriage and instruct your coachman to bring you back home. As you ride through the city, your embarrassment and sorrow almost make the cries of the peasants fall deaf to your ears. However, by then time you arrive at the city gates, it is impossible to ignore, especially not when your carriage begins get rocked.

You gasp and press your hands to walls to keep yourself upright. It takes only a few moments for you to realize exit was not being allowed to the town folk and your exemption was reason for their aggression. You begin to panic when you hear a loud cry from your coachmen, then from horses.

You hear guards threatening people, then suddenly, your door was ripped open.

They were upon you. In a second, tens of people had their hands on your body, ripping your dress, your hair, your being into shreds. You could not get away. City guards manage to grab hold of you but it did you more harm than good; they now battled for your helpless form.

The pain was searing; all you could do was scream.

Though the guards were eventually able to retrieve you, though you managed to be brought back to the Keep, though maesters saw to your shredded body, Criston was unable to wish you what you meant to wish him. You had let your final breath before he could visit.

He and Alicent light a candle.

[rendy-a]

Hi! Apologies if this request is too vague or specific but can I request a fic of Jack Howl x reader who’s a night owl kind of person and is much shorter than him, thank you!

Thanks for requesting. I don't get a lot of asks for Jack, so its a nice exercise to write something for him. I hope I captured him correctly.

‘Crazy,’ Jack thinks for the hundredth time after befriending the strange Prefect of Ramshackle dorm.  You can see this thought pass through his face, but it only makes you laugh more.  “Come on, you know you’ll enjoy it.”  Jack sighs, “Why can’t you ever pick anything to do that occurs during a normal person’s day?”  You lift your hand high to pat your tall friend on the shoulder and laugh, “I’ll convert you eventually,” and chuckle at the resulting scoff.

It is said that opposites attract, and nothing could be more fitting to describe the closeness that has developed between you and Jack.  You were short and he was tall.  You were always laughing, and he was so serious.  The point that seemed to cause you the most contention was that you lived for the late evening hours when the darkness crept in and the sky awoke with stars.  You loved the way the insects would sing in the night and the dampness of the coming dew that settled over everything.  Jack, on the other hand, went to bed early and woke up at some god-awful hour in the morning.  He would tell you any time you brought it up why he liked it, but you just didn’t see it.  Noisy birds chirping?  Bright and garish sunrises?  Having the whole campus to yourself for a jog?  What was the charm in that?  So, you’d taken it upon yourself to show him the beauty of the night whenever you could.  You’d change his mind eventually or at least have fun trying!

“Tell me again why we can’t just watch these movies on the weekend?” Jack asks with a hint of annoyance in his voice.  You grab his arm and lay your head pleadingly on his bicep, “Awe, come on!  Late night movie marathons are the best!”  When you see him turn away as though he can’t meet your eye, you know you almost have him.  Time for your most convincing argument.  “Please, please, please, please, please!!!”  Jack sighs with a huff and gives in to your demand but makes you promise to at least have something healthy for a snack.  “Ok, fine,” you offer conceding, “I’ll even prove my commitment to healthy snacks by asking Vil for some suggestions.”  Jack thanks you for going so far out of your way for him and gives you an approving pat on the head.  Finally, your late-night horror fest with your best pal Jack is a go!  And you got a head pat; way to go you!

You were halfway through Horror from the Deep when you could feel the sleepiness creep up.  Jack had fallen asleep twice, for which you teased him relentlessly, and so you were determined to make it through the entire retro horror movie marathon without missing a second.  “Should we call it a day?” asked Jack with a raised eyebrow.  You force your fluttering eyes to full-open and ask, “What?  Why?” as though you didn’t know the answer.  He huffs at your ridiculous defiance and remarks, “You’re no better than my kid brother at admitting when you are tired.”  You frown, “So what, I’m like your sibling now?”  Jack seems disturbed by this suggestion and lowers his ears as he stammers an apology.  Well, this was awkward now.  You turn your attention back to the movie, forcing yourself to focus on that instead of the warm (and firm) arm you are leaning against.  Just like friends.  Only friends. 

By the time the monster emerges onto the beach, you are sleeping deeply while pulling Jack’s arm into a hug.  He gives a half-hearted tug before deciding to abandon the effort and leans to rest his head on top of your own.  Sleeping like this won’t be so bad.  But only because he has too, not because he’s been dreaming about this.  No, certainly you didn’t have a friendship like that.  Of course not.

In the deep hours of the night, when you’re not quite sure if you should refer to it as night or morning, you awaken.  Your sleepy noises bring Jack to alertness before you can really take in how close you were.  You sigh and look at your movie partner bashfully, “Guess we will have to rewatch that one later, huh?”  Jack gives you a smug smile in response and suddenly you are laughing together.  There is a strange magic to the twilight and perhaps that is why Jack suddenly asks, “Walk me home?”  You smile at him, glad to have an excuse to drag this time out, “Sure.” 

You walk side by side in the misty fog that rolls off the grass during the pre-morning hours.  The effect was mysterious, like the setting of those late-night horror movies you’d watched.  You decided that you liked it.  You lean toward your companion to share your insight, “See Jack, this is exactly the sort of reason I love the night so much.”  Jack gives you a bit of side-eye and dryly remarks, “That fog is there because its nearly morning.”  You are startled by his comment, “Wait, what?”  Looking around, you realize he is right, it has grown so late that it was nearly morning.  The stars still gleamed in the sky, but you couldn’t deny the hint of brightness that was creeping from the horizon and the music of insects was slowly intermixing with the earliest of bird calls. 

You look around, taking in the atmosphere of the hour, “So this is the death of night, huh?”  Jack scoffs, “So dramatic.”  You smile, secretly pleased at getting such a response from him.  “Is it always this…fresh smelling?” you ask him pensively.  He takes a deep breath and lets out the most satisfying exhale, “Yeah, it is.”  You continue watching him with a smile, “I kind of like it.”  Jack’s ears twitch as though thinking something over, “Yeah but sometimes it’s too bright.  This is nice too, easy on the eyes.”  You give his arm a tap with your elbow, as though to let him know you’d noticed what he did there.  Jack was always fast to reconcile with you when you argued, especially if you admitted you understood his side.

You execute a little hop step and remark, “We should get moving, I don’t want to get any of your morning cooties on me.”  Then you set off in a mild run, laughing as you go.  Jack quickly catches up to you with a smirk, as though to remind you here is a far better runner than you.  You don’t mind, in fact, this is nice.  You reach out and grab his hand, pulling him along after you.  You feel him squeeze your hand but aren’t brave enough to look back and see what expression might be on his face.  You didn’t really need to though.  You went together like morning and night.  They were both great apart but when you combined them, like fog rolling off the grass, it was magic.

[the-kr8tor]

Hello! Could I please request TTN Hobie and reader go back to Aunt Janet’s shop, when they are together again after reader comes back from LA, to buy some fabric for something that they are sewing? I would love to see her reaction of seeing them both together!

Have a lovely day/night!

🕊️anon

Yippee a TTN request!! Ly thank you! ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, talks of babies, TTN! Hobie and Reader. FLUFF

Thread the Needle series Masterlist

TTN oneshot Masterlist

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

The bell jingles as Hobie opens the door for you, strolling inside, practically skipping from all the happiness of being with him again, you wait for him to enter. He loops his arm around your waist almost immediately. The unabashed PDA would make anyone look away, but who cares? You're complete once again.

“What do you need again?” He asks, eyes roaming around, chin resting comfortably on your shoulder.

“If you stopped and actually listened to my chattering then you won't have to ask.” You say teasingly, a smirk playing on your lips.

“If you stopped snogging me while talking then I won't be so distracted, hmm?” Hobie rubs his chin on your shoulder in an effort to tickle you.

“It's not my fault you keep coming on to me.” Giggling, he scrunches up your face with his whole palm over your entire face, wiggling it playfully.

“If you two don't stop being all sweet there'll be ants all over my shop.” A familiar voice pipes up from behind the counter, making you pause and take off Hobie's hand from your face. “‘ello you two. Welcome back, sweetheart.”

“Auntie Janet!” You squeal, feet bouncing to get to her. Hugging her over the counter, you hold her at arm's length, grinning from ear to ear.

You've noticed the new glasses on her, she has aged a bit since you last saw each other but there's still that twinkle in her eyes whenever she smiles.

“Let me get a good look at you!” You awkwardly twirl around at her behest. She smiles widely.

“So?” You ask timidly.

“Good,” Janet nods approvingly. “You've taken care of yourself well? Ate? Went on walks?”

“I did, don't worry.”

“He taking good care of you then?” She gestures towards Hobie who peruses the shelves.

“He is. Too good in fact, he barely lets me out of his sight.” You joke. “I'm guessing he missed me a lot.”

Janet leans closer to you, whispering. “Don't tell him I told you this but he's a regular customer here.”

“He is?” You ask, feigning ignorance. You know of his vigilante activities, and unfortunately those activities usually end up with his suit cut to pieces or mangled up. It's the main reason why you're visiting, and to also visit Janet of course.

Your heart pounds loudly at the thought of Janet figuring out his secret identity.

“That he is, I think he's making his own clothes. That's how much he misses you. You know, do the activities you like so he feels like you're there with him”

You breathe a sigh of relief, not knowing what you would've said to her if she guessed correctly on why he needs so much fabric. With a giddy smile, you like her conclusion better.

“I'll– put that information to good use.” You stutter,

She nods, “use it wisely.” Winking, she straightens out when Hobie plops a roll of scaly green fabric on the counter.

“Oh is this for Terry?” You ask, hand automatically reaching for his jean back pocket.

Janet looks at you confused.

“Yeah, for patching him up.”

“Wait, do you have a kid? How long have you been home, Y/N?” She looks at you like you've betrayed her.

Before you could explain, Hobie takes the opportunity to tease the old woman.

He pats your stomach, “yeah, she had him a month ago and he's growing very fast, we need new clothes for him.”

You stifle a laugh, you'd tell her eventually but you want to see how Hobie's bit goes.

“A baby boy?!” She points at Hobie menacingly. “She gave birth a month ago and you're already letting her walk around?” Janet comes around the counter, cane at the ready. “Not to mention the fact you already knocked her up the minute she came back home!” She points at Hobie with her cane. “What kind of–”

Hobie shields himself with his arms, laughing loudly while Janet chastises him. Their voices echo out in the shop.

You watch Hobie defend himself from an old woman, smiling, your laughs match Hobie's. Maybe you'll tell Janet the truth once she calms down or else you might get the cane too.